Like Never Before
by starbuckmeggie
Summary: Chandler and Monica meet under completely different circumstances in a completely different way. Modern day A/U.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello friends! I know it's been a while—things have just been so busy that I've only been able to focus on one story at a time ;) Maybe that means I've calmed down a bit. Anyway, a little background about this story—it's AU, but not at all in the way that "You" was. This is basically present day. Things will be a little different, so just stick with me, please. The general idea of this is basically a rip-off of another story. But, I'm ripping off my own story…that I never wrote…more than ten years ago. Not even kidding. Had the idea for a completely different fandom and never got around to actually writing it, but I guess the idea stuck with me. I've also *ahem* borrowed from a couple of other places, but I'll give them credit when I get to those moments, I promise._

 _This isn't as standard as I usually write, but hopefully it'll be all right. And this first chapter is long, but I think I can break up the rest of it into more manageable pieces. I've written enough of this to know there are some natural breaks in the story._

 _I don't know if I'm sold on the title yet, so don't be alarmed if it changes._

 _And this might seem random, but I suppose I need to maybe dedicate this to Kel. If not for her specific words toward me, I would have posted this all the way back in June as just a three or four chapter story. Now…I'm close to 200 pages in with some more crap that I need to get out of me before it's all over. So…there's that._

 _The rating will change eventually, too, so be on the lookout for that._

 _Well, without further ado…_

 _I didn't plan on falling in love with you, and I doubt you planned on falling in love with me. But once we met, it was clear neither of us could control what was happening to us._

With a sigh, I look down at my phone to check the time. If this line doesn't start to move soon…well, nothing's going to happen. I don't have anywhere else I need to be at the moment, and it's not so much that I hate waiting in line—I know that the people working behind the counter are only human. But when the person in front of me feels the need to make the excursion into a laugh fest, holding up anyone and everyone behind him, I start to get a little antsy.

I look over my shoulder and try to suppress a groan. Of course, I'm the only one in line. This guy has no reason to keep the line moving for one other human being.

"Come on, Chuckles," I mumble to myself as I tap in the pass code for my phone. I scroll through my emails, not surprised at all to find that nothing new had come in since I checked thirty seconds ago. Then I pull up Facebook and find nothing new there, either.

I look up as the girl behind the counter lets out a loud belly laugh; I truly couldn't have said if the man in front of me was funny because I'm doing my damndest to ignore him. At first, I didn't pay attention to him because I was simply standing in line, waiting for my turn. But after a couple of minutes, I realized that he was just there to hang out and chat. I'm not very good at confrontations, at least not with strangers, so instead of tapping him on the shoulder, I passively-aggressively huff and puff and check my phone to kill time.

For a few moments, I consider the fact that I'm short and probably can't be seen over this guy's shoulder as a factor in why I'm being ignored, but I dismiss the thought as quickly as it appears. I may not be the tallest person on the planet, but I'm not so small that I can't be seen over a man's shoulder. Not to mention that it's extremely cold and windy outside, and when I opened the door a few minutes ago, quite a gust followed me.

No, I conclude, this man is aware of my presence but simply doesn't care that he's not the only person in the universe.

I sigh again and roll my neck as I try my best to remain patient. I always try to remind myself that if I'm not going to make my opinions known in any given situation, then I can't really get upset when things didn't go my way.

I'm not sure what causes me to look up at that moment—maybe it's just a natural motion, maybe I felt him moving. I really can't say. But all of a sudden I can see his body coming at me. I try to step out of the way, and I think he realizes too late that I'm behind him because he tries to step out of the way, too. In those few moments, time seems to slow to a crawl as I watch his coffee cup come barreling at me. I know that I'm in for a world of hurt when I feel a hand grab my elbow. A moment later I'm out of harm's way, the coffee cup on its side at our feet as the still-steaming contents dribble out.

"Oh, my God," he exclaims. "Oh, my God, oh, my God! I'm so sorry! I didn't see you there. Are you okay?"

I take a moment to consider the question, still a little shocked that I don't have coffee burns all over my body. I glance down and see that my boots and jeans are dotted with little drops of coffee, but other than that I'm dry.

He swoops down and grabs my bag—that I hadn't even realized I'd dropped—before the ever-growing puddle of coffee can reach it. He gives it a little shake before he passes it back to me, and I finally look up at him.

My heart nearly stops for a moment.

In front of me is one of the most attractive men I've ever seen. Light brown hair, bright blue eyes, and a sheepish, apologetic expression on his face. I stare at him dumbly for a few long moments, my eyes never leaving his face. Finally, he gently slides the strap of my bag up my arm and hangs it off my shoulder. A wide, bashful grin spreads across his face and I feel my heart melt a little bit. "Uhh, yeah," I finally say, remembering that he asked me a question. "Yes, I'm fine. Thanks for saving my life."

His grin grows even wider, if possible. "Well, don't tell anyone," he says, leaning toward me conspiratorially. "But underneath this suit and tie I'm actually Superman."

I let out a snort despite myself. "So, is Superman so hard-up for a rescue that he's now actually putting damsels in distress?" God, what is wrong with me? Not thirty seconds ago I would have happily throttled this man and now I'm _flirting_ with him.

He chuckles and holds out his hand to me. "Hi. I'm Chandler."

My smile widens at the unusual name. "Hi, Chandler. I'm Monica." I grab his extended hand and bite my lip a little. I'm not usually excessively romantic; I don't believe in love at first sight or soul mates or any of the sorts of things people expect girls to believe. But I _do_ believe that sometimes you meet a person and you feel an instant "click." Sometimes you make contact and feel a rush go through your body, like a bolt of lightning.

That's what Chandler's hand in mine feels like.

"Monica," he says softly, his eyes never leaving mine. "It's nice to meet you."

"Do you want another cup of coffee?"

The two of us jump a little, startled, and drop our hands. The girl from behind the counter has already cleaned up the spilled coffee and has probably been watching us stare at each other for some time. Chandler recovers nicely, though, and answers her while he smiles at me. "Yes, please, and whatever the lady wants, too."

I shake my head in protest as the girl answers, "There's no need for you to buy another cup."

He smiles at her crookedly as she moves back behind the counter. "It's not exactly your fault that I spilled my coffee." He looks over at me, smiling kindly. "And the least I can do after nearly giving you third degree burns is buy you a cup."

I smile despite myself. "There's really no need. You didn't do it on purpose." I really need to get a grip. Seriously, two minutes ago I was _positive_ that he was ignoring me on purpose, completely aware of and unconcerned with my presence. I knew it without a doubt. Now, I'm damn near looking at him from under my eyelashes. I would be disgusted with myself if I wasn't positive that he was giving me the exact same look.

"How about this? Can't a man buy a lovely woman a cup of coffee?"

My eyes grow wide as the smile that's already on my face grows even bigger, hurting my cheeks. "Well, when you put it that way…" I shrug at the girl behind the counter. "Coffee, please. Black." I look up at Chandler, and his cheeks turn pink as I catch him staring at me. "Large." He grins at me again as he pays, our coffees following shortly thereafter.

We shuffle a little out of the way of the customers behind us, both of us holding our coffee cups awkwardly in front of our chests. Not usually at a loss for words, I'm stumped at how to handle this sort of situation. He smiles at me anyway and I tuck my hair behind my ear as I look away. I notice him shuffling his feet and instantly feel a million times better. At least he seems a little out of his element, too.

"Look," he says suddenly, and I look up at him cautiously. "Do you have some time? Do you want to hang out and talk?"

I bite my lip as I try to hold back yet another smile, Aren't I supposed to be playing hard to get or something? I mean, I shouldn't be making it blatantly obvious that I'm into this guy, right? But I can't seem to help myself. "Yeah, I've got time. That sounds great."

He looks instantly relieved, his shoulders relaxing as he breathes a sigh of relief. He glances around the café, the place fairly crowded despite the fact that there's not much of a line. After a moment, he nods his head toward a table near the window and gently touches my elbow—not in an aggressive, "come with me" sort of way, either. More of a reassuring contact sort of way.

I have it bad for a complete stranger. This can't be good.

Well, not a _complete_ stranger. His name is Chandler and he likes coffee.

I roll my eyes as I follow him over to the table—it's a stretch at best and I know it.

My eyes trail down his back for a moment, the corner of my mouth quirking up at his cute little ass proudly displayed beneath his suit pants. An instant later I slam my eyes shut, shame washing through me. I _hate_ it when guys do that sort of thing to me—it can't possibly be okay for me to do it to them.

"Are you okay?"

I open my eyes slowly to see Chandler's concerned face peering back at me. I give him a half-shrug and half-smile. "Yeah," I finally answer, pausing when he holds out the chair for me. I honestly can't remember the last time anyone did that for me, or if that's _ever_ been done for me. Without another word or even a judgmental look on his face, he sits down across from me and smiles.

And says nothing.

We both stare at each other for a few moments before we both look away, laughing with embarrassment. I haven't felt this awkward around someone in years. If only it wasn't tempered with this strange, instantaneous attraction.

"So, Chandler, do you come here often? Ugh, oh, my God," I groan before he has a chance to answer me.

"What?" he asks, his hand covering mine for just a second before he moves it away.

"That was the worst conversation starter _ever_ ," I moan, disappointed and embarrassed. Does he come here often? It's such a bad, clichéd pickup line that I'm tempted to go stand in traffic just to put myself out of my misery. "I'm sorry. I just ask because—well, I'm actually—you know, I'm, uh, I'm here all the time, and I've never seen you here before, and…" Yep—this is it. I'm calling it. Time of death: Far too soon.

"Monica," he says softly, his hand covering mine once more, though this time he leaves it there, and I feel a tiny kernel of hope spring in my chest. I lift my eyes to see him looking back at me kindly, almost relieved. "It's okay. I'm nervous, too."

"You are?" I ask before I can help myself. "You seem so…relaxed."

"Oh, trust me; I'm still in shock that I've managed to make it this far after nearly burning you with coffee and that horrible line about being Superman. Honestly, I have no game whatsoever."

I let out a relieved laugh and turn my hand beneath his so that I can squeeze his fingers. "Oh, my God, really? Because I thought…"

"Monica, I'm completely stunned that you agreed to sit here with me. The fact that you haven't left in a huff because I can't stop staring at you is astounding," he answers with a smile, his soft blue eyes crinkling at the edges. My heart flips over in a way I don't expect.

"You can't stop staring at me?" I ask softly. I can feel my cheeks heating up in embarrassment at even asking that question, but he's managed to catch me completely off-guard. I hadn't even noticed him staring—I've been too busy looking away in embarrassment.

"You're gorgeous," he answers just as softly before he clears his throat and looks away. "I'm sorry. I don't usually…I'm not really as _forward_ as I seem. I'm actually hopelessly awkward, which is _why_ I say things like that."

"You think I'm gorgeous?" I ask, my mind stuck on that one thought.

His mouth quirks up at the corner and his fingers squeeze mine again before going loose, giving me a chance to pull away. Instead, I move my chair just a little closer to his and tighten my grip on his hand. I've never held hands with a stranger before—it's not usually the wisest of ideas, honestly—but there's really something about this one particular person that just makes me want to be close to him.

He looks relieved that I'm not moving away. With his free hand he grabs his coffee cup and takes a tentative sip. "I come here pretty often, actually, either on my way to work or on my way home. But I had to go in for a few hours today and…" His voice trails off as he watches me and I swallow nervously. Not because I'm being watched, though I can't really put my finger on it. It doesn't feel bad, at any rate. "You really come here all the time? How have I not seen you?"

"I'm usually here in the early afternoon."

He shifts his chair just a little closer to me. "Are you a student or something?"

I burst out in surprised laughter. "A student? Really?"

Chandler shrugs and looks bashfully down at his coffee. "You look like you're young enough, and you have what sounds like a strange schedule."

"Good genes," I answer, finally taking a sip of my own coffee. "I'm well past my college days, but thank you." He opens his mouth to say something, but a worried look passes over his face and he hesitates. "You can ask how old I am. I don't mind."

"Okay, now, see, that contradicts what just about every woman I've ever met says. I thought we weren't allowed to ask about your age."

"Well, I can't speak for women as a whole, but I don't mind. I'm twenty-seven. How old are you?"

He gasps and clutches his hand to his chest, pretending to be insulted. "How _dare_ you ask a gentleman his age? Don't you know that's personal?"

I roll my eyes even as I smile, and gently kick his shin under the table. "Chandler."

"Hey! It's a little early for abuse, isn't it?" he asks, rubbing his leg for a few moments. "I'm twenty-eight." He pauses for a moment before barreling forward. "So what do you do? That came out awkward, I know, but I thought it'd be better than staring at you again. Though I've been wrong before."

What is it about this guy that keeps drawing me in? He's hot—true, but it's more than that. I wouldn't normally suspect that I'd go for someone like Chandler with his silly little jokes and obvious awkwardness, but there's something about the fact that he knows this about himself and embraces it that's a huge turn-on to me. But I think I'd like him even if he were completely unaware of it.

"I'm a chef," I answer, surprised to find that I've already moved my chair even closer to his.

"A chef? Wow. Sounds impressive."

"Hardly. It's loud, noisy, hot, sweaty, sometimes dirty. The pay is negligible most of the time, and the waiters usually make more than I do."

"And you love every minute of it," he says matter-of-factly.

A smile spreads across my face once more and I prop my head up on my hand. "And I love every minute of it. Cooking's my passion, and it turns out that I'm really good at it."

"Lucky for your customers."

I nudge him with my foot again. "Yes. Lucky for them. Anyway, it's not much, but it pays the bills and it keeps me happy, so I don't know if I could ask for much more out of life." That last part isn't completely true—there are a lot of things I'd like to ask of life, but job-wise I think I'm doing all right.

"So, this is where you stop for your pick-me-up on the way to work?"

"No, this is where I stop for my pick-me-up on the way home." He gives me a confused look so I just shrug. "I usually work the lunch and brunch shifts. It's hard to jump right into a restaurant as a chef for the night shift, and even harder to be the chef for the weekends, so when I was offered the chance to work lunch, I took it. I figured it'd be a foot in the door and I'd be able to prove myself at the same time. That was four years ago."

"If you're not going anywhere, then why…"

"That's the thing—I don't feel like I'm not going anywhere. I've actually been there longer than the head chef who works primarily on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. It turns out that if you work at night in the average restaurant, you will almost never have a night off again. It sounds glamorous on paper, but in practice it's very grueling. This way, I'm at work most of the day, but then I still have nights free to hang out with my friends or whatever."

"Well, that doesn't sound too bad," he agrees, taking another sip of his coffee.

"It's not. I really like what I do, and it's not as if we don't get crazy crowds for lunch, you know? I mean, this is Manhattan, after all. People go nuts for brunch, too, so I'm held in fairly high regard at work. I make a hell of an omelet."

"Where do you work?" I feel myself hesitate, but a moment later he holds up his hand to stop me. "Nope. Never mind. Don't tell me. This way I can't stalk you."

"That might not be the worst thing," I tell him softly, the thought slipping out before I have a chance to censor it. "What do you do?" I ask before he can respond to my apparent delight at the idea of being stalked.

"I'm in advertising."

"Advertising, huh? So you're an expert at selling yourself?"

He chuckles a little and shifts, and I'm almost surprised to realize that we're now actually bumping shoulders. "Pretty much. How's it working so far?"

I giggle a little—actually giggle like a little girl—and duck my head. "Too soon to tell. I may need some more convincing." God, Monica. Throw yourself at the man a little harder, why don't you? I'm about as subtle as a gun.

" _More_ convincing, huh?" His mouth is close to my ear, his breath sending shivers down my spine. Ordinarily, I wouldn't be comfortable with someone I hardly know being this far into my personal space, but something is very loudly telling me that this man isn't like anyone else I've ever met. "Would you maybe like to be convinced in the form of dinner some night?"

I look up again, his face close enough to mine that we almost bump noses. His eyes are so blue—the color of the autumn sky on a clear day, and even though I'm sitting down, my knees go weak. He looks so nervous, as if I'm actually going to turn him down. Whatever it is I'm feeling right now, at least he seems to be feeling it, too.

I glance down at his lips for a split second and feel my heart start to race. _This is such a stupid idea_ , I tell myself as I worry my own lower lip between my teeth. _Don't_ _kiss a stranger. Don't kiss him, don't kiss him, don't kiss him._

But, God help me, I want to. I want to know if it's a perfect as I think it'll be.

It's still a bad idea, though. Kissing a man you've just met is something you do in college, when you're young and stupid. Kissing a man you don't know when you're an adult can't possibly lead to anything good.

The corner of his mouth quirks up a little and he backs away a few inches. I wonder if he had the same inner turmoil I just did, or if I'm really over-thinking this whole thing.

"Sorry," he says softly. "I was really invading your bubble, wasn't I?" Before I can answer, I hear a strange, almost growling noise and he groans loudly. "That's me. Sorry." He reaches into his pocket and I realize his phone was vibrating against his leg. I take a deep breath and sit back, startled to see that our hands are very thoroughly tangled. Somehow, once we grabbed on we never let go, and now I can't help but be fascinated at the way we managed to do this without ever realizing it.

He holds up his phone for a second before silencing it and tossing it on the table. "I'm going to have to give them a call back," he tells me, but I can't help but be a little flattered that he didn't answer right away, opting instead to talk to me. "Umm…if dinner was too forward—"

"Oh, no," I exclaim, not even pausing to be embarrassed by my outburst. "No, that's not too forward at all. I'd…I'd love to. Whenever." Yep—that ought to scare him off. Let him know that you're instantly available and have nothing else going on. _That's_ always attractive.

But he doesn't seem turned off by my eagerness at all. Instead, he just grabs a napkin out of the dispenser on the table and pats his jacket, looking for a pen. I shove my hand into my bag and, mercifully, find one almost instantly. He smiles gratefully as he writes his number out, sliding the napkin in front of me. He lets out a sigh and stands slowly as he grabs his coffee cup, looking just a little sad. "So…"

My eyes grow wide and I snap myself out of my haze. "Wait!" I grab another napkin and scribble out my number, pausing to make sure I've actually written down the correct information. "That's my cell. I can't always answer if I'm at work, but I promise I'll call back." I hold the napkin out to him and he slowly takes it, his hand lingering on mine, and I feel dizzy again, my entire body shaky at the contact.

"I promise I won't do the guy thing and wait a week to call you," he tells me, and I feel relief rush through me. I hadn't realized I was worried about that until he mentioned it.

"I'll hold you to that," I tell him with a smile, not bothering to wonder at the absurdity of that statement. As if I could make this person I don't know do anything.

"So…bye," he says, taking a few steps backward, his hand still holding mine.

"Bye," I answer, watching him walk away from and feeling my heart inexplicably break at the thought him leaving already.

"Bye," he says again, taking a few more steps before finally turning and walking out the door.

I let out a long breath as my body starts to shake, still completely caught off guard by what just happened. I just made googley-eyes at a stranger while I held his hand. What the hell is wrong with me? I've never done anything like that before and with good reason—it's dangerous. It's stupid and dangerous. But everything in me is telling me that this is okay, that he's a good person. I don't know why I'm so inclined to believe that about him—other than the fact that I find him to be incredibly attractive—but my gut instinct is that he's a good guy, a genuinely good guy that I can trust, though I should definitely get to know him for a while first.

I feel my phone buzzing in my coat pocket and pull it out, staring at the unfamiliar number in confusion for a few moments before I finally press "accept."

"Hello?"

"Told you I wouldn't wait a week to call you."

A grin instantly spreads across my face, my cheeks aching from the effort. Chandler. "I'm glad," I answer softly, tears prickling the corners of my eyes because I'm so happy that he's already calling me. "How far did you get?"

"Not very," he answers. "Look up."

I look out the big picture window in front of me, my eyes finding his just a moment later as he smiles at me sheepishly from across the street. "Hi," I say, unable to tear my eyes away from him.

"How many cool points did I lose by calling five seconds after leaving you?"

I just roll my eyes and shake my head. "You just _gained_ about a million."

"Really? It's not creepy and pathetic that I wanted to hear your voice again?"

"Not even a little bit," I confirm. This is completely new territory. Most guys really _do_ wait for days before calling, while we sit at home on pins and needles, overanalyzing every moment of time we've spent in contact with him. Feminism has come a very long way, but some habits are harder to break than others. But a guy who actually calls when he says he's going to, a guy who doesn't seem to be playing any games and is just as into me as I am into him…it's a brand new experience. One I'm hoping I get to take part in for a very long time.

His face lights up, relief written all over his features. "It was really nice to meet you, Monica."

"It was really nice to meet you, too."

"I actually do have to go, though."

"Okay," I answer, watching him not move from his position across the street. "I'm not stopping you."

"If only that were true."

Somehow, my smile gets wider. "Go. I'll talk to you later." That came out a lot more confident than I feel.

"Definitely. Bye for real this time."

"Bye." I watch as he hangs up his phone, his eyes never leaving mine despite the people rushing past him on the sidewalk. Finally, he gives me a tiny wave and turns, putting his head down against the cold wind as he walks away. Immediately, I add his information to my phone's contacts and save, checking it three times before I feel like I can trust myself to have his number secure. Still, I put the napkin he gave me in my wallet just in case.

I glance at my phone again, surprised to realize that Chandler and I spent over an hour talking and staring at each other—it only felt like five minutes. I sigh and stand, grabbing my own coffee cup and sling my bag over my shoulder before I head out into the blustery winter day. In a trance, I walk back to my apartment, any plans I'd had in mind for the day completely shot as my head fills only with thoughts of the time I spent with this incredible guy.

The front door of my building appears and I pull out my keys to let myself in, dreamily drifting up to the fifth floor. I turn the knob to my apartment door, rolling my eyes to find it already unlocked. I love my roommate—we've been friends since we were little kids—but even after living in Manhattan for three years, she hasn't managed to catch on to the fact that you're supposed to lock your doors. Just because we mostly trust our neighbors and people either need a key to the front door or need to be buzzed in doesn't mean we're in some sort of protective bubble.

Rachel looks up from the couch as I make my way in, surprise registering on her face. "Hey, Mon. I wasn't expecting you back for a while."

"Yeah," I answer. "It was just kind of cold, so…" I let my voice drift off as I take off my coat and hand it up slowly, Chandler's bright eyes and cute little smile dancing across my mind. His touch still lingers on my hand and I can still feel his fingers between mine, the feel of it so natural, so perfect that—

"Mon!"

I blink a few times, looking over at Rachel. "What?"

"You've been staring at your jacket for, like, two minutes. Are you okay?"

That's a loaded question. "Yeah. Sure. I'm fine." Just then my phone buzzes in my pocket and Rachel's next question falls by the wayside. I pull out my phone and see that I've gotten a new text. I can't even fight the grin because I _know_ it has to be from Chandler. I tap in my pass code impatiently, sighing in frustration when I hit the wrong numbers in my rush to see the message. I take a deep breath and make myself go slow, leaning back against the door as I see his name pop up on my screen.

 _Friday night good for dinner?_

I smile, not even hesitating in my response. _Friday's great_.

 _I mean, I'll call you later to officially ask you out, but I wanted to make sure I booked the day before someone else could._

My social calendar has been glaringly empty for the last couple of months, but he probably guessed that already. _I'll make sure to pencil you in ;)_

 _So it's not completely lame that I texted you?_

 _No, texting's fine. Text any time you want._ Geez, even when I have the chance to censor myself I don't. I'm completely available and this guy knows it.

 _I'll keep that in mind. Talk to you later, okay?_

 _Okay. Later._ It takes everything in me to not send a little heart emoticon after that.

"Monica, what's going on with you?"

I blink a few times, pulling myself from my phone to turn my focus back to my roommate. "Huh?"

"You look like you're in love with your phone over there; you won't stop smiling and sighing. What is it?"

I look at his texts for a few more moments before I lock the phone and slide it back into my pocket. "Rache, you're never going to believe this, but…I think I met someone."

 _They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that's true._

*A/N…please tell me it didn't suck, please tell me it didn't suck, please tell me it didn't suck…


	2. Chapter 2

*A/N…Oh, yeah, just FYI—this is all told in Monica's POV. Okaythanksbye!

* _You can always hold my hand if you need to feel steady.*_

* * *

I feel almost unreasonably nervous as my cab makes its way through traffic to the restaurant where I'm meeting Chandler. My heart is thundering at just the thought of him. I haven't seen him since last weekend when we met—what if that strange spark isn't there this time?

I've probably talked to him almost a dozen times since then, though, and just hearing his voice makes my stomach flip. True to his word, he called me later on Saturday to ask me out, and even though I'd already said yes, he still sounded nervous. Every time I've talked to him since, he starts out the conversation with, "Is this weird?" I'm not entirely sure what he means—this odd connection we already have or the fact that we keep calling each other even though we've only met once—but it hasn't felt weird. It feels kind of…right to talk to him when he's on his way home from work, or in the middle of the afternoon when one of us is bored. He even called me early yesterday while he was waiting for the subway just to wish me a good morning. All I could do was lie there in bed and grin stupidly at my phone as he told me about what was on his agenda for the day. In between all that, we've been texting each other like crazy. Anything stupid that comes to mind, we send to each other. It's ridiculous and I feel like I'm in high school with how distracted I've been, but I can't help it.

I tried to explain it to Rachel—when I first got home last weekend and told her about Chandler, she seemed really excited for me. What threw her was when I mentioned that not only had he already called me, but that we'd already set up our first date. She told me something had to be wrong with him if he was already initiating contact. I considered it, too, because if nothing else, Rachel has a hell of a lot more dating experience than I do. I figured if anyone knew what they were talking about when it came to red flags with guys, it'd be her. But her entire opinion of Chandler was based on the fact that he actually called me right away, so I started to dismiss her concerns.

Granted, I'm not completely stupid—I'm keeping my eyes open for anything about him that seems off, and if we get to the point where my friends meet him and have very strong negative opinions about him, I may have to reevaluate. For now, though, he's just a sweet guy that doesn't seem to be interested in playing the usual games. I know he doesn't mean to come out and say whatever's on his mind—he's already told me as much—and I'm sure he has a friend somewhere who's telling him to play it cool, but it's really nice to know that he's interested in me instead of having to deal with my own insecure thoughts as I wait for him to call.

I need to slow down, though, because I can't stop thinking about him. Part of me is hoping that when I see him again there'll be something that I missed, some flaw that irritates the hell out of me. At least then I'll have some sort of balance.

My breath catches in my throat as the cab eases toward the curb and Chandler comes into view. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest as he paces in a short line back and forth in front of the restaurant. My heart flips over again, and I desperately try to retract my earlier wish—I really don't want to find some sort of fatal flaw with this man. I just want to see what happens with him.

Chandler looks up, his nervousness written across his face as he stares off down the sidewalk. It's such an odd relief knowing that he's just as worked up about this as I am.

His eyes shift and meet mine, and he comes to a complete standstill. I see a pedestrian bump into him, giving him a dirty look for being slowed down, but Chandler doesn't seem to notice. Instead, a smile spreads across his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I can't help but smile, too, as I stare at him through the glass.

The cab driver clears his throat and I blink, breaking the connection with Chandler. I check the meter over the driver's shoulder, certain that he must have tried to get my attention more than once and has probably told me the total several times by now.

Will the world ever stop fading away when I see this man?

I hand the driver my fare and jump a little when the door opens for me. I look up to see Chandler waiting patiently, his hand extended to help me out of the cab. I don't know who taught him his manners, but I'd like to bake that person a cake. They're such simple things—holding out a chair, helping me out of a cab, and I'd be willing to bet anything he'll hold the door, too—but they mean the world to me.

Eagerly, I put my hand in his, that wonderful jolt surging through my body as he helps out of the cab. He keeps my hand in his as we stand on the sidewalk, watching each other and grinning unabashedly.

"I missed you," he says, cringing immediately after. "God. Sorry."

"For what?"

"I really meant to say that it was good to see you again. It just came out…like that."

"If it's any consolation, I prefer the way you said it." If he's going to be this honest with me, the least I can do is give him the same.

He smiles and bends down, his breath hot on the side of my face for a split second before he presses his lips to my cheek. My heart beats even faster, though I can't help but mentally scoff at myself. I feel as if I'm trapped in a Victorian novel—never before have I been so enthralled with these old-fashioned gestures. But just him kissing my cheek was better than any other kiss on the lips I've ever had. Ever.

A whiff of his aftershave assaults my senses and my eyes fall shut as I take a deep breath. "Wow," I breathe, unable to help myself.

"What?" he whispers, his face still close to mine sending chills up and down my spine.

"Nothing," I answer, opening my eyes, though I don't remember shutting them. I smile at him, his face a little distorted at this angle. "You just smell really nice." I feel like such an idiot.

"You're not an idiot," he tells me, and I feel my eyes grow wide.

"Ohhh, I didn't realize I'd said that out loud," I groan. I can feel heat spreading across my cheeks as my stomach starts to sink. This guy is going to want nothing to do with me.

His hand comes up, tucking a few strands of hair behind my ear. "We have to be careful," he says gently. "I'm beginning to think we have no self-control around each other."

I roll my eyes, laughing in a combination of relief and embarrassment. "No kidding."

He shrugs helplessly, lifting our joined hands to his lips and pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "Hungry?" he asks as he finally stands up straight, effectively breaking the spell of the moment.

I nod as we walk toward the restaurant; I was so relieved when he told me he was taking me to this place instead of somewhere really upscale, though I suspect that was a calculated move on his part. Going somewhere casual—or at least not super fancy—will hopefully help keep our evening casual. We can relax around each other and have fun instead of worrying too much about being fancy. Of course, I could be putting too much thought into this. Maybe he just likes this restaurant. Maybe he takes all of his first dates here.

I stop that train of thought instantly. I don't want to think about his other dates or how many women he's brought to this particular restaurant. For just a few minutes, I kind of want to pretend that he's been monk-like until he met me.

That's ridiculous and far-fetched, but it's still a fantasy I want to entertain for just a little while.

He pulls the door open for me—I knew it!—and I walk into the warmth of the cozy, low-lit restaurant. I watch as he speaks to the hostess, presumably confirming our reservations. Even in a fairly casual restaurant, reservations are always necessary on a Friday night. He says something to make her laugh, but this time I can't help but smile a little fondly. He's funny and personable, probably making accidental friends everywhere he goes.

My eyes drift down again, and I can't help but notice that his ass looks just as nice today as it did a week ago. I close my eyes for a moment, letting the obligatory shame wash over me before I shrug to myself and look at him again. So he has a nice ass—so what? Most people like to know that their backside looks good. It's not like I'm going to slap him on it and tell him to get in the kitchen and make me a sandwich.

I snicker at the thought as he turns and smiles at me, confusion passing over his face. "What's funny?" he asks, holding out his arm to me.

I shake my head and take his elbow—touched once again at the sweet, simple gesture—as we follow the hostess to our table. "Nothing, really. Maybe I'll tell you later."

"Later tonight?" he asks, pulling my chair out and helping me get settled. "Or later like a few weeks or months from now?"

I feel heat rise in my cheeks at the mention of us getting beyond a few dates, though it's definitely from excitement rather than embarrassment. "We'll see." With that, I open up my menu, biting my lip to hide my grin.

* * *

*A/N…sorry this one was so sort. When I originally wrote this chapter, it was part of the next chapter, but the next chapter wound up being longer, and then I thought that this worked well on its own. I'm trying to find stopping points in some of the longer chapters, mostly so I don't get too far ahead of myself, plus I think it'll make for a more compelling story. At any rate, I think this will be the shortest chapter of the whole story (not including things I haven't written yet). I tried to find ways to beef it up, but I didn't want to add words for the sake of words, you know?

Something else I keep forgetting to mention (if I'm not careful, the A/N will be longer than the story)—I name all of my stories after songs. I know people have asked me from time to time about my titles, so there you go. I won't give away this one just yet, but if anyone ever wants to know about any other titles, feel free to ask.


	3. Chapter 3

_*One day, you'll kiss a man you can't breathe without, and find that breath is of little consequence.*_

* * *

We've spent hours talking. Not really about the important things, either, but the simple things. The everyday things. We've talked about the weather and how it's been colder than usual this year, and never in my life have I enjoyed talking about the temperature the way I have when it's with Chandler. He sat and listened to me while I talked what felt like endlessly about food and cooking, asking me questions and giving me his opinions. We talked about movies and music, traveling and the places we each want to go someday, our favorite books and the one's we secretly hate that we're supposed to love. He's made me laugh like no one else ever has, though not just because he's great at jokes and one-liners—because he is—but also because he has great timing and delivery. His face is so expressive. I've already sat and watched him talk for hours, but it doesn't feel like enough. I'm sure we've long over-stayed our welcome here, but I can't bring myself to end this evening with him.

"Our waiter must hate us," Chandler says suddenly.

"Why? Because we've been camped out at this table for so long he's probably ready to offer us tents?" I ask with a smile.

He chuckles a little at that. "That's good; I've never heard that before. I'll have to remember that for next time." He checks his watch, his eyes widening a bit in surprise. "Yeah, I'd say it's probably time to go. It's after eleven."

My mouth drops open in shock. "You're lying." I grab his arm and pull it to me, twisting it at an odd angle to confirm the time. "Oh, wow." I put his hand back on the table but his fingers grab onto mine before I can go very far. I let out a sigh at the feel of his fingers tangled with mine, and after more than four hours of sitting across from each other, I've given up feeling silly at the way I react to him.

"Will there be anything else?"

As one, our heads snap up to our waiter who, while smiling at us, looks more than a little impatient. "No, we're fine," Chandler answers, his eyes finding mine again. "Just the—" He pauses as a black folder appears in front of him in an instant and I snicker. "Check. Thanks."

"I'll pick that up whenever you're ready," the waiter answers, his smile a little less forced this time before he trots away. I see him pause near the kitchen door, though, keeping an eye on us.

"Think he's ready for us to go?" I ask sarcastically. I look at the black folder in front of Chandler and mentally cringe. I hate this part of a date—there's no way to not awkwardly ask who to divide the check, or if it's being divided at all.

Chandler saves me from myself, though, pulling out his wallet. When I open my mouth to protest he just waves me away, sticking his credit card in the folder and putting it on the edge of the table. " _I_ asked _you_ out, remember? Besides, I know it's ridiculously old-fashioned, but I'm the guy. I should pay for the dates."

"'Dates'?" I ask, trying to hide my amusement as I watch the waiter rush over to grab the check. "As in multiple? There'll be more than one?"

Chandler looks at me dubiously, his eyebrows knitting together. "You're joking, right? Do you think I spend this long at a restaurant with someone I _don't_ want to see again?"

I shrug, looking away as a sudden wave of self-consciousness washes over me. "I guess not."

His fingers find mine again, squeezing. "Monica…I don't want tonight to end. I'm trying to figure out how long I have to wait to ask you out again, honestly."

"Really?" I ask, feeling hopeful, and the waiter appears at the table once more.

"You two have a great evening, and thank you for dining with us. We hope to see you again soon," he recites, giving us his most dazzling smile for a few moments before he leaves; Chandler and I grin at each other.

He signs the receipt before going back to our original topic. "What I really want to do is ask if you want to go out again tomorrow, but—"

"Yes," I answer without hesitation, my heart starting to race with anticipation. We haven't even parted ways yet and I already can't wait to see him again.

He looks relieved as he stands and helps me with my chair. He holds out my coat for me and says, "You know, I probably really dropped the ball on this earlier, but you look amazing."

"Oh. Thanks," I mumble as I button up the jacket, suddenly remembering that I'm actually wearing clothes at the moment. Rachel and I spent days going through my closet and hers, pulling out any outfit that we thought might would work. Then we had to whittle it down bit by bit, tossing aside dresses and skirts and sweaters that were too stuffy, too slutty, too summery, too everything. It came down to the wire today, actually, with me finally just letting Rachel pick. She has great fashion sense, but her clothes tend to run along the lines of more formfitting than mine. Up until the moment I saw Chandler, I felt like I was popping out of my dress completely, the short hemline and skinny straps feeling far too inappropriate for January. It's been so long since I've been on a first date that I really, truly cared about, though, that I honestly had no idea what to wear, and while my bulkier winter clothes would have felt better, this is a man I definitely hope to impress somehow.

Now, however, I'm back to feeling hyperaware of my significant lack of clothing. He hasn't leered at me, though, not once. No ogling or staring, at least not below my chin, so I'm hoping that I won't need to keep dressing so far out of my comfort zone. Honestly, though, I don't even know how much it matters; if he wants to keep seeing me, I want to keep seeing him, and if I have to dress up for every date, well…there are worse fates.

"Aren't you cold, though?" he asks as we head out into the windy, wintery night, his hands rubbing up and down my arms.

"I've been warmer," I answer honestly, and he immediately wraps his arms around my waist, drawing me against his chest.

"Tomorrow we'll do something warmer," he promises. I look up at him and cock my eyebrow, and his face turns bright red. "I mean…we'll _go_ somewhere warmer. The movies, maybe?"

"Good with me," I answer, leaning my head against his chest. His aftershave is intoxicating, and heat is radiating off of him in waves. His heart thumps reassuringly beneath my ear, though I can feel the rhythm steadily increasing the longer we're near each other.

"Of course, if I take you somewhere like this again, I'll have an excuse to hold you in arms when you get cold," he tells me softly, his cheek pressed against the top of my head.

"I think it's pretty safe to say that you really don't need an excuse, Chandler."

His arms tighten around me but he says nothing. It should be weird to be this comfortable with him, but it just isn't. I feel so at ease around this man, in a way that I never have with anyone else. Even with my ex, who I was with for more than six months. In hindsight, he and I _never_ had this sort of rapport. I never felt this comfortable with him, or that he just _got_ me the way that Chandler seems to _get_ me. It's unbelievable and weird but so incredible. Even standing in the middle of the sidewalk just holding each other feels like something we're supposed to do.

"I should probably…let you get home," he says, his arms still wrapped around me.

"Mmmhmm," I answer, my eyes falling shut as I listen to his heart, and we're both silent again for a while. "I think this was the best first date I've ever had," I finally say.

"Was it our first date, or our second date?" I finally lift my head, looking up at him in confusion. "Well, we spent an hour together at the coffee shop last weekend," he reminds me.

"That wasn't planned, it was a happy accident. One of the better happy accidents, in my book."

He smiles at me lazily, his hand coming up to tuck the hair behind my ear. "Mine, too," he agrees. I grin up at him goofily, not sure what to do next. "So, how do you want to do this? Can I see you home? Do you want me to put you into a cab?"

"How about we get in a cab together?" I suggest, and the words are barely out of my mouth before he has his arm up, hailing a taxi for us. There's not much harm in him knowing what apartment building I live in. It wasn't that long ago that a date would actually pick someone up at their door without the constant fear of a stranger knowing where you live. As long as I don't invite him up to my apartment tonight, I won't feel as if I've gone completely insane.

We settle into a cab and I give the driver my address. The roads are a bit less hectic this time of night, so the ride back probably won't last nearly long enough. Not that it matters, it seems, because we're both suddenly at a loss for words. Our joined hands rest on his leg, and I can't stop staring at the way our fingers tangle together so perfectly. I can't tell which fingers are his and which are mine. The air around us feels like it's electrically charged, and even the driver seems to know better than to make small talk.

The cab pulls up to my apartment, and after a good-natured tussle over who was going to pay the fare—somehow, I managed to win—Chandler asks the driver to wait and helps me out of the cab. It's only a matter of feet from the curb to my building, but it's still over too quickly.

"So, what time can I call you tomorrow?" he asks, his fingers playing with the collar of my coat.

"Call me as soon as you get up, if you want," I answer, reaching out to tug at his tie.

"What if I'm an early riser?" He takes a step closer to me.

"Then I'll get the best wakeup call in the world." I cringe a little on the inside—that was probably too much.

"Well, now I can't wait to fall asleep so I can wake you up."

"We're both definitely on that first date high," I tell him, tugging at his tie again until he moves closer.

"Giddy," he answers. "Mushy, stars in our eyes, talking romantic nonsense." One of his hands finds its way to my waist, the other sliding to the nape of my neck.

"So much nonsense," I agree, swallowing heavily as I feel my heart start to race.

"All this anticipation." His voice is soft, his face tilted down toward mine.

"Anticipation of what?" I breathe, knowing full well what he means.

He smiles gently and his hand slides to the back of my neck. I watch his face for as long as possible before my eyes flutter shut. His breath is hot against my mouth for a few moments before he makes contact. His lips are soft and tender and utterly perfect. I feel suddenly as if I've been punched in the gut, but in a good way if that's possible. Nothing has ever felt like this before.

He pulls back and my eyes open in surprise. He's watching me carefully, waiting. Without hesitation or eloquence, I throw my arms around his shoulders; I seem to have made the decision he was hoping for because his hand tugs at my neck again and our lips find each other once more. I make a little noise in the back of my throat and his arms tighten around me, hand cradling my head an instant before I feel myself pressed up against the cold brick of my apartment building.

I stand on tiptoe to get closer, not caring that my lungs are burning or that my head is dizzy. All I know is that I've never been kissed like this before. I've never experienced anything that's come close to this, and I don't ever want it to stop.

I hear an engine rumble and finally turn my head, though his mouth never stops its ministrations. He kisses behind my ear and down my neck, and it takes me a few moments for my brain to swim out of the fog that it's in. "Chandler," I gasp. "Your cab left you."

He lifts his head a little, looking over to the empty spot at the curb. "So it did." He grins at me, his eyes twinkling in the light of the streetlamps. "Eh. It's New York. There's always another one nearby."

I let out a little laugh before our lips find each other's again. Every part of me is tingling as we kiss, our hands grabbing and pulling at each other's jackets, neither of us able to get close enough.

I feel him pop open the buttons of my coat, his hands sliding across my stomach to my back, setting everything on fire. The worst blizzard in history could drop on us right now and I'd never notice the difference in temperature.

He presses me more firmly into the wall and I feel like I'm going to combust. I don't know that I've ever wanted another person more than I want Chandler right now.

His lips slow against mine, kissing me leisurely, the urgency of the moment passing to leave nothing but pure passion in its wake. I slide my hand through his hair, my nails scratching at his scalp, and he shudders against me. He presses one more gentle kiss to my lips before he pulls away marginally, resting his forehead against mine. Our breath mingles, creating little white puffs of air in the cold night before they evaporate into the night. It's on the tip of my tongue to ask if he wants to come up. Everything in me is screaming for him, _demanding_ him. I physically ache right now. I know it's a bad idea—sex on the first date is rarely a _good_ idea—but that doesn't stop me from feeling desperate for more.

With a quiet sigh, Chandler says, "I should probably go."

I want to cry, but I know it's true. "Probably."

"Why does it suck so much?"

I laugh, pulling him closer to me. "Because that was the best first date in the history of dating."

"Best first date," he agrees, his hands going to my hips. "Best first kiss, too."

"No argument here," I whisper.

"I can't wait to see you again. I mean, I know I'm still with you, but I'm already excited about tomorrow."

I lean up and kiss him again before giving him a gentle shove. "Get going," I tell him, hoping I don't sound as discombobulated as I feel.

He grabs my hand and kisses the palm, and it nearly makes me fall over. "Tomorrow," he says, almost disbelievingly.

"Tomorrow," I agree, stretching my arm until he moves out of reach. "I'll talk to you in the morning?"

"As soon as I'm up, I'll call."

My heart flutters and I clumsily pull my keys out of my purse, my hand visibly shaking as I try to unlock the front door. Once I manage to shove it open I turn and look at him again. It's almost a relief to see that he still looks as rattled as I feel.

"Bye," I almost whisper, giving him a small wave before I push the door shut. I stumble back a few steps until I hit the wall, leaning against it as my legs shake. That was…weird. Not in any way bad, but nothing like I was expecting. Chandler and I have insane chemistry—I don't know what it is or how to explain it, all I know is that something in me feels different when I'm around him.

I force myself away from the wall and start staggering up the stairs, occasionally grabbing onto the railing for support. I feel almost ridiculous and completely clichéd, but I can't help it. My reaction to him is just that intense.

When I get to my apartment door, I take a few deep breaths—no light can be seen from the cracks, so hopefully that means I can wait until the morning to fill Rachel in on everything. I'll definitely need to talk to her about this, but for tonight, I want to keep it to myself.

My fingers go to my lips—they're still tingling, his touch lingering. I can still taste the coffee and chocolate cake he had for dessert. I clutch my keys tightly in my other hand, forcing myself not to run back down the stairs. He's going to call me in the morning. If it were any other guy who'd made that promise, I'd expect to maybe hear from him in a few days at best. But this is Chandler. This is the guy that barely got ten feet out of the coffee shop last week before calling me, the guy who texted me the same day. This is the guy who I've spoken to more in one week than I have to some guys in entire relationships. He's going to call. He has as good of a time as I did tonight, and that kiss…well, I can safely say he enjoyed that, too.

I grin to myself and unlock my apartment door; everything is still and quiet, which means Rachel is probably still out. Fine by me. I shrug out of my coat and tug at the zipper on the dress, loosening it just a little. I kick off my shoes as I get to my bedroom and shimmy out of the dress, feeling my body decompress a bit. The light filtering in from a streetlamp outside illuminates my room without need for anything else. I take a few steps closer to the window and see snowing swirling around the lights, giving the night a magical glow.

I pull off my bra and grab a sweatshirt, cocooning myself in its warmth, and I notice a figure sitting on the curb. I squint my eyes for a few moments before I realize that it's Chandler. It has to be. Chandler with his head in his hands.

I dash out into the living room and dig my phone out of my purse, entering first my pass code then Chandler's phone number as I make my way back to the window. I see him fumble with his pockets for a few moments before he finds his phone, answering it a moment later. "Hey," he says, the smile evident in his voice.

"Go home," I tell him teasingly and his head jerks up and twists around, searching the windows of my building.

"That's not fair. You can see me but I can't see you."

I grin, positive that he'll see my smile despite the darkness. "You're gonna get frostbite."

"Yeah, well, my legs aren't so steady right now," he chuckles, standing anyway.

We're both silent, though I can hear him breathing. I can hear the sounds of New York behind him, always in motion, and somehow, it doesn't feel odd to just remain quiet.

"Thank you for tonight," I finally say, pressing my forehead against the window. "I had a good time."

I actually can see his smile from my apartment. "Me, too. I'll talk to you later, Monica."

"Okay. Be safe."

"Definitely." He pauses for a moment, his eyes still searching the dark apartment windows.

"Let me know when you get home," I tell him softly, my hand reaching up to touch the window pane as if I can reach him that way.

"I will," he promises, his eyes still searching for my apartment before he just shrugs and smiles. "Goodnight."

"'Night," I answer, ending the call. A few moments later I watch Chandler put his phone in his pocket and turn, disappearing into the dark night.

* * *

A/N…Hello, all. Just thought we could use a little happy. On a personal note (I'll try to keep this stuff to a minimum because it doesn't really pertain to the story), I don't know if those of you overseas have heard about the TV reporter and her cameraman that were killed during a live news broadcast this past Wednesday (and if you haven't heard about it, please don't go looking for the video—it's sad and awful), but that girl was someone I know. I did a few shows with her a while back, and, for various other reasons, I know her entire family. It's really fucked up, and it's very surreal, and I'm still trying to process it. But honestly, I'm not begging for sympathy, because there are people who were a lot closer to her than I ever was who need those thoughts and concerns now more than I possibly could. I guess the point is that you never know when each moment could be your last, horrifying as that is, so love each other. Do things. Be happy, be angry, be all the emotions. Make up with the person you're irrationally mad at, or get rid of the person who does nothing but drag you down. Live your life. Don't waste it.

I promise I won't be so maudlin next time.


	4. Chapter 4

_*The only way to find true happiness is to risk being completely cut open.*_

* * *

Rachel stares at me, a look that's a cross between shock and disbelief across her features. I just shrug and grab plates, bringing them out to the coffee table. I take a step back, taking in my handiwork, but everything looks good to go. Chandler's coming over for dinner tonight which, in and of itself isn't that unusual by now, but it's the first time I've cooked for him. He assumed that because I spend my days slaving over a hot stove that I wouldn't feel up to it after work, but after many reassurances, I finally convinced him that it's really no hardship.

But, this will be the first time he's tasted my cooking. I'm not usually nervous about that part, but I'm realizing more and more that this guy matters to me. Maybe a lot more than he should after so little time together, but there's no getting around it—I care about him and what he thinks.

"You're telling me," Rachel finally sputters, "that you've been with this guy for three weeks and you haven't had sex?"

"Why is that such a big deal?" I ask defensively, pushing past her to grab a bottle of wine from the kitchen.

"Because…because… _three weeks_. I mean, come on. What're you two even _doing_ together?"

"This may come as a shock, but there are a million other things you can do with a person that doesn't involve sex," I answer sarcastically as I check on the food again, even though it's exactly where it needs to be.

"Well, I know you were in a dry spell before you started seeing this guy—"

"Chandler, Rachel. 'This guy' is Chandler, and how the hell do you know that I've been in a dry spell?"

"Monica, I'm your _roommate_ , remember? The walls here are unfortunately thin, so I know every time your headboard starts to get some action."

I make a face at her, even though I know it's true. It's not like I don't know when _she's_ got someone over, but I guess when you live with someone for so long, you just sort of get used to it. Either you find somewhere else to be for the night or you find some way to tune it out. "We decided not to rush anything. We're getting to know each other first."

"Yeah, fine, that's great, but _three weeks_? Don't you know him well enough by now?"

"Not really."

"Don't you two spend _hours_ talking?"

I sigh happily, turning to face her again. "Yeah. Yeah, we do."

"So?"

" _So_ , it feels like I'll never know enough about him. Every time we talk I learn something new. It's kind of amazing."

"Sounds to me like you're friend-zoning him."

"Believe me, Rache, that is _so_ not what is happening." I've never been more attracted to another person in my entire life, if I'm being completely honest.

She leans against the fridge and crosses her arms, studying me for a few moments. "So I take it you _don't_ believe in the second date rule?"

I chuckle and roll my eyes, my arms crossing to imitate her posture. "The second date rule? This I have to hear."

Rachel looks at me in disbelief, even though I'm fairly certain that she has to be making this up. "There's this rule that you should sleep with a guy on the second date because if the chemistry's not there, you shouldn't waste your time."

"This is written somewhere?"

"Maybe it's more of a philosophy."

"Well, think about it this way—don't you sometimes have more chemistry with someone the more you get to know them?"

Rachel deflates a little. "I guess," she concedes.

"So, if you jump into bed with someone and there's no orchestra playing in the background, no fireworks, none of the crap that happens in movies, then you just dump the guy? What if the chemistry isn't there _because_ you don't know him that well?"

"Chemistry is chemistry," she argues. "That spark is there or it isn't. Even if you sleep with someone on the second date and maybe it's not the absolute best, you can still know if the potential is there."

"Yeah, or you _can_ wait a little while, get to know him better, and have a fantastic time in bed." I'm assuming. I don't know—I've never waited like this to have sex. "Look; Chandler and I have _tons_ of chemistry, and we spark like crazy. He kissed me on the cheek when we met for our first date and I almost fell over, so when we actually kissed at the end of the night…I don't know how to describe it. It was better than any sex I've ever had. So, if he wants to take the time to really get to know me first, I'm good with it. He's special to me."

She shrugs, and I assume that's the end of it, heading back to the living room to check on things yet again. I don't expect her to understand it—hell, I'm only just starting to grasp it. Neither one of us has ever been saints when it comes to relationships and such, nor do I think there's anything wrong with that. But the idea of actually taking my time with someone is so insanely romantic that I'm good with it.

"You know he's probably married, right?"

I choke and turn around, my mouth flapping like a fish. "What?"

"What other reason could a guy possibly have to put off having sex?"

"Rachel, come on."

"No, think about it. I mean, how many guys do you know are at all interested in taking that kind of time to get to know a girl before trying to bag her?"

She has a point. "Rache…"

"And this 'wait for sex' thing…was that his idea, or yours?" I remain silent, so she plows ahead. "Have you seen his place yet?"

I open my mouth to answer, only to stop short. "Well, no. No, he's only been here, I haven't been to his place yet. But he has a messy roommate. He's not that kind of guy, Rachel. I _have_ been seeing him for three weeks, and we've been spending an awful lot of that time together. He calls me all the time, he texts me in between…he's not married."

Rachel shrugs, though I can tell by her face that she's not convinced. "All right, so what does is Facebook profile look like?"

I feel my face heat up and I cross my arms tightly over my chest. "I don't know. We're not Facebook friends yet." She gives me a superior look and I feel my hackles go up. "That doesn't mean anything. It's not like I've sent him a friend request, either. A lot of people put a lot of personal stuff on those pages, and maybe he's not ready for that."

"Or maybe he's married," she answers.

"Why are you doing this?"

"I just don't want you to be hurt."

"So your solution is to hurt me? Jesus, Rachel, you've never even met this guy and you're already thinking the worst of him?"

"I don't _want_ to think of him like that, but I'm on the outside of all this, and you're so into him that you can't see some the whole picture. He's keeping something from you."

"He probably is," I agree. "But that's part of this whole process. There are probably lots of things about him that he's not ready to share yet, same as with me. I haven't told him everything about me yet, either."

"Well, just think about it, all right? And check his left hand for a tan line on his ring finger, so you'll know if he's taking off his wedding band every time he sees you."

Unfortunately, it's probably _all_ I'll be able to think about now. "He wouldn't do that. He's a decent guy, and there's no way he's married."

"For your sake, I hope you're right, but I'm telling you, Mon…there's something off about this. A nice guy who's _not_ trying to get you into the sack, and whose place you haven't seen, who won't let you see what he has on Facebook, who just 'wants to get to know you' before having sex...it's not right."

Logically, I know she's wrong—she has to be. I suppose him being married is a slight possibility, when all of those elements are factored in together, but that doesn't mean it's the _only_ possibility. More than likely, he's been burned in relationships before and just honestly doesn't want to get hurt again.

Still…now I can't help but wonder. He really does seem too good to be true, and I've yet to meet a guy like Chandler who is actually single. Usually, you bump into a guy and really hit it off, have everything in common, and ten minutes later his wife comes along. It never fails.

And why _haven't_ I been to his apartment? Is his roommate actually messy, or is it because his wife is there?

No; it can't be. With the amount of time we've spent together the last few weeks, there's no way he could be married—his wife would wonder where he is half the time. Unless…his wife works third shift, or has been out of town.

I hate Rachel.

A knock on the door pulls me out of my thoughts, but Rachel rushes over before I can move. I see her put on a dazzling smile the moment before she pulls open the door and I roll my eyes. That's so her.

"Hi," she says, holding out her hand. "I'm Rachel, Monica's roommate."

"Nice to meet you, Rachel," he answers, and I can see him shaking her hand, though the rest of him is still hidden behind the door. "I'm Chandler."

Silence ensues as Rachel takes him in, probably trying to judge if her theory is right or not, and I can just picture poor Chandler standing there awkwardly, shuffling his feet as he waits for her to something, anything. With a sigh I over to them and nudge my friend out of the way, pulling the door open a little wider. My heart flutters as I see him, and his face lights up in a smile. All of my doubts and questions from just moments before vanish in an instant. "Hi, Chandler."

"Hi, Monica." He leans down and cups my face, kissing me softly. "I missed you."

"You just saw me two days ago," I whisper.

"I miss you when I haven't seen you for a minute." He kisses me again and I wrap my arm around his neck, reveling in the feel of lips moving gently against mine. This man knows how to kiss. "These are for you," he tells me when we come up for air, and I blink a few times to bring myself back down to earth and notice that he's holding a bouquet of roses. I damn near swoon. I can't remember the last time someone gave me flowers, especially for no reason at all.

I lean up and kiss him again, briefly this time, before stepping back into my apartment. "Come in."

"Smells good," he tells me, smiling at Rachel and stepping around her awkwardly when she doesn't move out of the way.

"Thanks! It should be ready soon, so make yourself comfortable." I push the door closed and give Rachel a look, but she looks around me, studying Chandler intently. I take a moment to smell the flowers before gently laying them on the counter. He hangs up his coat and I pull a chair over to the cabinets, standing on it to reach the vases I keep on the top shelf.

"So, Rachel, will you be joining us for dinner?" he asks, putting a hand on my hip to keep me steady, though his touch makes my knees wobble a little.

"No, she was just about to head out for the night. Weren't you. Rache?" I ask her pointedly.

"Well, it's awfully cold outside, and staying in sounds kind of nice," she answers, edging toward the kitchen.

"I only made enough for two." She _cannot_ be doing this.

She looks back and forth between me and Chandler for a few seconds—I know I'm giving her the look of death, though the way her eyes widen when she lands on Chandler's face, I can only imagine that he looks less than thrilled, too. "Oh, I'm kidding. Calm down, I'll be out of your hair in a few minutes." She mumbles to herself as she heads off to her room and Chandler holds out his hand for me, helping me step off the chair. He takes the vase from me as I push the chair back in, his hand sliding around my waist before I can go very far.

"Hi," he whispers, leaning down to kiss me again, deeper this time. I stand on tiptoe and push myself against him, reveling in the feel of his body pressing against mine. I hear him put the vase down on the counter and both of his arms wrap around me. He bends down a little, tightening his grip on me before straightening, pulling me off the ground a little.

I can't help but giggle a little—it's kind of a movie moment, but I'm good with that. "Hi," I whisper against his mouth, not wanting to part from him longer than I have to.

"That can't possibly be sanitary."

We pull apart, startled, both turning simultaneously to see Rachel shrugging into her jacket.

"Excuse me?" I ask, my mind still reeling from Chandler's kisses.

"Making out near the food like that. Seems like it'd be some sort of biohazard."

"Good night, Rachel," I tell her and she just shrugs, grabbing her bag off the counter.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Good night, Rachel," I repeat.

"Yeah, yeah. 'Night."

"It was nice to meet you," Chandler adds, smiling at her charmingly.

"Sure," she answers. "I guess I'll see you soon. Have a good night, you two." She looks at me pointedly, mouthing _check his hand_ at me before finally ducking out of the apartment.

"She okay?" Chandler asks after the door shuts and her footsteps fade away down the hall.

"Yeah; that's just Rachel being Rachel. I think she really wanted to stay and make us uncomfortable. She'll be fine." I give him another kiss before pulling out of his arms. "I hope you're hungry. I just made roast chicken, but I think you'll like it."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Nope. Just grab your plate off the table and load up."

I follow him into the living room to grab our dishes, but I'm on the wrong side of him to check for a ring line. I try to make myself stop, and I try to remind myself that Rachel knows absolutely nothing about him. I shouldn't listen to any of her crazy, harebrained ideas, either. She's always trying to turn life into a soap opera.

We walk back into the kitchen and stand side by side at the table as we pile our plates full of food, and I try not to let the doubts Rachel has put in my head affect me. I grab a little piece of chicken and hold it out to him. His head tilts back as he looks at it nearly cross eyed.

"What are you doing?"

"I saw this in a movie once," I answer, taking a step closer to him. "Actually, I've seen it in about fifty different movies. One person inexplicably tries to get another to eat food out of their hands, making the entire mood sexy as the air crackles with tension, the couple on screen fighting their chemistry for some unknown reason, but licking food from each other's fingers is always a catalyst…" My voice trails off as he grabs my wrist, bringing my hand to his mouth. I feel his teeth scrape against my fingers for a second as he grabs the food, his tongue swiping at me for just a moment before he releases me.

"Like that?" he asks, smiling lazily.

"Uh-huh," I breathe, staring at him. Holy hell, this guy is sexy. And now I can see why this is such a staple of romantic movies. My hand drops from where it's hovering in midair to his neck. "Come here." I give him a tug and pull his lips to mine.

His arms immediately wrap around me, pulling me flush against his body. It seems silly to be this turned on just by him nibbling at my fingers, but I can't help it. It felt strangely intimate.

"Next time," he whispers against my mouth, "can we share a strand of spaghetti like in 'Lady and the Tramp'?"

I snort unexpectedly, and then start to giggle because I snorted. I should be mortified, but I know he's teasing me. He smiles against my lips before pressing his forehead against mine, laughing with me.

"Let's eat," I finally say, giving him a gentle shove. He grabs both of our plates and I finally get a glimpse of his left hand.

The skin is smooth and even, not a tan line in sight.

* * *

*A/N…Changing this-realized that unless I've filled you in on that particular subject, my ramblings made little sense. Anyway, I'll say this-you guys give me too much credit. Some of you have been worried about the "drama" classification on this fic, thinking that it means something...all it really means is that I like to give stories two classifications, and there wasn't another one that seemed to fit at that moment. Just relax a little ;)


	5. Chapter 5

_*I could die right now…I'm just so happy. I've never felt that before. I'm just exactly where I want to be.*_

* * *

Chandler groans as he flops back onto the couch, rubbing his stomach. "God."

I chuckle as I wipe my mouth, tossing my napkin onto my empty plate. "You all right?"

"That was _so good_. You should be a chef." I give him a look and he laughs, picking up my hand to kiss the back of it. "I know you already are, don't worry. I pay attention when you talk. But, seriously, you should be a head chef at some ridiculously upscale restaurant that charges fifty bucks a plate."

"I'm not that good," I answer, turning sideways onto the couch, pulling my feet onto the cushion. It's been a long time since I got to see someone really enjoy my cooking, and it's quite the ego boost.

"Not that good? Monica, I've never eaten anything like it. You've taken roasted chicken to a whole new level. Other chickens are going to be standing in line to be cooked by you because they're going to be so excited at the prospect of being _that_ delicious."

"Ewww," I answer as I laugh. "That's a horrible mental image."

"Maybe so, but it's true."

I lean over and kiss him, a touch of lemon and rosemary lingering on his breath. "You don't have to butter me up, you know. I'm kind of a sure thing." I wink at him to let him know I'm teasing, though I wouldn't be opposed to the idea of getting naked. He reaches over and strokes my leg through my jeans, his fingers trailing delicately over my calf muscles for a moment before he pulls my feet into his lap. "What're you doing?"

He gently takes hold of one of my feet, digging his fingers into the sole. My toes curl and my eyes roll back in my head, a moan falling from my lips. "You were on your feet all day," he says softly, somehow putting just the right amount of pressure on my perpetually aching feet. "Then you came home and cooked a fantastic meal for me. This feels like the least I can do."

"You don't have to," I whimper, knowing it doesn't sound at all convincing.

"I want to," he answers simply, sitting up a little straighter. "Just relax."

He doesn't have to tell me twice. His fingers massage first one foot, then the other, going back and forth between the two. Sometimes he strokes gently, almost tenderly, making my entire body relax, and sometimes he bears down, working out the tension and sore spots.

I don't do this often enough. It usually feels like too much effort after work to find someone to do it for me, and most of the time I'm so used to my feet hurting that I don't even think about it anymore. Of course, after having my marvelous boyfriend rub my feet, I don't think anyone else will ever be able to compete.

My brain pauses for a moment—I can practically feel the gears grinding to a halt and going into reverse. My boyfriend? Is he my boyfriend? I haven't given it a lot of thought, truthfully. So far, he's just been the guy I've been seeing—an amazing one, sure, but still only someone I've been dating. Does he think of me as his girlfriend?

"Chandler?" I mumble, my voice low and content.

"What's up?" he asks, finding a point on my foot that makes my toes spread apart.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"How do you think of me?"

His hands pause and my eyes flutter open a moment later, greeted by a confused expression on his face. "Huh?"

I suddenly feel completely ridiculous for asking, but there's no way I can just drop it now—if nothing else, he'll keep asking what I mean. "How do you think of me? Or how do you describe me?"

"Describe you? To whom?"

"I don't know. Your friends, I guess. Or your roommate."

He still looks utterly perplexed. "I tell them that you're hot?"

I laugh a little, nudging him with my foot. "Thanks. I guess…well, what I'm trying to ask is…am I your girlfriend?" The last part comes out in a whisper, and it seems like the dumbest thing in the world to have to ask someone.

He's silent, though, stroking the top of my foot thoughtfully. "Do you want to be my girlfriend?"

My head nods of its own volition. "Yeah."

"Good, because I want to be your boyfriend."

My shoulders sag with relief. "You do?"

"Oh, God, yes. I can't think of many things better than being able to tell the world that I'm Monica Geller's boyfriend."

I sit up and scoot toward him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. "That conversation was a lot harder than it should have been, considering I'm an adult."

"Hey, you put yourself out there. It can be scary," he tells me softly, his hands stroking up and down my back. "That's why I hadn't brought it up yet. I'm kind of a coward."

I pull back, grinning broadly at him. "But, apparently now you're _my_ coward."

His eyes twinkle. "Now, _that_ I like." He puts his hand on the back of my neck and pulls me in, our lips finding each other's automatically. I feel him lowering me to the couch, my legs still draped over his lap, but he somehow maneuvers his torso until we are chest to chest. I slide my fingers through his hair, tugging at it playfully, and I feel a shiver run through his body. I give his hair another tug and he moans a little, his fingers digging into my body.

He pulls away from me suddenly, both of us gasping for air, and he strokes my hair back reverently. "My girlfriend," he says softly, grinning from ear to ear. "Yeah, I could get used to that."

I pull him back to me, our lips meeting again, and I try to shift my legs around him. He tries to help and we get our lower halves tangled for a few moments, laughing at the absurdity of it all, until he moves to the other side of the couch for a moment, letting me stretch out before draping himself over me. His warm weight is one of the most sensual and comforting sensations I've ever felt.

"Hi, boyfriend," I whisper, biting my lip in an attempt to keep my grin from getting even bigger.

"Hi, girlfriend," he answers, nuzzling his nose against my cheek for a moment before finding my lips again. He shifts his hips and I whimper softly. It's been such a long time since I've had a guy pressed against me like this that I nearly forgot what it felt like. I clutch his shirt, one of my legs wrapping around the back of his. He makes a muffled noise, his body molding more completely against mine, and I sigh in happiness.

I feel his fingers toying with the edge of my shirt, gently grazing my skin in tentative intervals. The feather light touches send shivers racing through my body. "It's okay," I whisper against his lips. In an instant, his hands slide under my shirt, splaying across my back.

"Sorry," he mumbles, smiling. "Been a while." His fingers slide under my bra, stroking my skin, and I wrap my arms around him tighter. I never want him to go anywhere.

God, I have a _boyfriend_. It seems ridiculous to focus on that one thing at this moment, but the fact that I get to call Chandler mine is so absolutely thrilling that I can hardly contain myself.

"You really are hot," he whispers, moving down to kiss my neck enthusiastically.

"And that's all that matters in life," I answer as I push my head back, exposing more of my throat.

"Clearly." He sighs against my skin, his teeth just barely grazing me. It's like heaven.

I tug at his shirt a little, pushing it up just a bit so I can stroke his back. "You're a very shallow boyfriend."

"Hey." He pulls his face out of my neck and I feel my eyebrows knit in confusion. "I prefer 'boy toy.'"

"Oh, really?" I ask with a giggle.

"I will also accept 'man candy,' if you prefer."

I free one of my hands from under his shirt. "Put your lips to better use, Candy." Before he can protest, I pull his head back to mine. I shift a little, situating myself under him a little more comfortably. I unravel my leg from his and stretch it for a moment before I drape it over the back of the couch. I feel him settle into me more fully, his form wonderfully firm and hot against me. I shift my leg again, my body not used to being at this angle—though I'm so, _so_ glad to be reacclimating myself to it—and brace my foot.

I feel his fingers gripping at my back and something way in the back of my mind clicks. What could I possibly be bracing my foot on?

My eyes fly open and I let out a yell, nearly throwing Chandler off me at the sight of my brother's face looming over the back of the couch. "Ross! What are you doing here?"

"What the hell is going on?" he demands, rubbing the spot on his stomach I kicked by accident.

"What's it to you?" I stand up and tug down my shirt, glancing down at Chandler—he's breathing heavily, looking quite shell-shocked, his eyes wide as saucers.

"Looks like I'm here just in time," he answers, moving toward Chandler, but I just give my brother a shove, forcing him in the opposite direction.

"What is wrong with you, Ross? This is _my_ apartment! Don't you know how to knock?"

"I _did_ knock," he insists, giving Chandler the evil eye over my shoulder. "No one answered."

"Did it occur to you that maybe no one was home?"

"Not with the door unlocked."

There's just no winning with this guy. "Geez, Ross." I run a hand roughly through my hair and shake my head. "Why are you here?"

"I wanted to come over and hang out. Is that wrong?"

I look at him suspiciously—he looks far too innocent for someone who just wanted to "hang out." "Really? You expect me to believe that?"

He looks away, shuffling his feet. "Rachel told me you were here," he mumbles.

I let out a frustrated noise and go back to the couch, flopping down next to Chandler. "This is Ross," I tell him. "My brother."

Chandler stands up immediately, holding out his hand as he tries to get his clothes in order. "Oh! Hi, Ross, it's good to meet you. I'm Chandler."

"Chandler the molester?"

"Oh, my God," I exclaim. I'm going to murder Rachel when she gets home. "Ross, he's my _boyfriend_."

"Does that mean he gets to maul you on your couch?"

"Making out is not the same as _mauling_ , you reject. Now, if you don't mind…" I stand up and grab his arm, trying to guide him to the door, but he puts on the brakes. It's not often that I can't use sheer force to get what I want out of him, but when he's in one of his weird, big brother modes, he becomes an immovable object.

"Well, now that I'm here, why don't we get to know each other?" He plops down on the chair and leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands folded under his chin. "Chandler. Have a seat."

Chandler turns and looks at me, one eyebrow arched almost to his hairline. "Sorry," I mouth, reaching out and grabbing his hand.

Instead of looking irritated or disgusted, though, he squeezes my fingers in return, holding my hand against his chest. "It's all right," he mouths back.

Ross clears his throat and I sigh, sitting on the couch again. Chandler follows a moment later, still holding onto my hand. "So… _Chandler_. Tell me what you do."

"You know," I interject. "Our own father doesn't do this sort of thing."

"Hey, I'm a little parched," he answers, giving me a look. "You don't offer a beverage to your guest?"

"You have to be invited to be a guest. If you're thirsty, there's water at Niagara Falls."

Chandler chuckles softly, though immediately goes blank-face when Ross cuts his eyes back to him. I can see the amused twinkle in his eyes so I just relax against his side. At least he's not offended by this sudden interruption and interrogation, which is a relief. I was hoping to put off him having to interact with my well-meaning but sometimes overbearing brother for a while, and I certainly wouldn't have had them meet as Chandler was feeling me up, but at least we managed to define ourselves as boyfriend and girlfriend. When that question comes up, and I know it will, we won't have to look at each other nervously and stammer out an awkward reply. I settle into Chandler and watch Ross carefully.

"So, Chandler, your work."

"My work," he repeats. "I'm in advertising."

"Well, that's nice and vague."

"I'm a senior copywriter," Chandler clarifies. "According to my bosses, I'm on the fast track to becoming a creative director, so maybe within the next few years or so. But I enjoy what I do at the moment, so I'm not in any rush; I want to hone my skills for a while before I take on that sort of level of authority within the company."

Ross looks genuinely impressed, his "stern big brother" look disappearing for a few moments. "Wow. Would I have seen anything that you've done?"

"Ahhhh," his brow furrows as he thinks. "God, what's out there now? I'm sorry—the stuff that's airing now is stuff that we worked on six months ago, so it starts to get jumbled up…you know that orange juice commercial? The one with the talking sun and smart ass oranges?"

Ross laughs, shaking his head in amusement. "Oh, yeah; that's hysterical."

"That's mine."

I lean over and kiss Chandler's cheek—he told me about that one during our first date, and that it was actually the one that really made his bosses sit up and take notice of his skills. The small display of affection seems to remind Ross that he's supposed to be doing an interrogation. "So, you went to college?"

"Yes."

Ross waits for him to continue, and Chandler just looks at him serenely; I'm sure my brother wasn't anticipating this guy to be able to give it back as good as he gets. "College for advertising?"

"Actually, no. I have an accounting and economics degree. I didn't really know what I wanted to do, and since I'm good with numbers, that's the major I settled on. After I graduated, I got a summer job doing statistical analysis and data reconfiguration and I worked there for a few years. The money was good, the work was easy, so it felt like a no-brainer." Well, that's new information. I had no idea that he used to be in a different line of work. "But, about four years ago, I realized that even though it was easy, it wasn't what I wanted, so I quit. I got my foot in the door at an agency and lucked out with a couple of ideas that the bigwigs really liked and here I am."

Personally, I'm impressed. I didn't know Chandler was so brave.

"So, you jump from job to job?" Ross asks, and I make a disgusted noise.

"Yeah—that's exactly what he does. Two whole jobs since graduating college seven years ago," I answer sarcastically. "Obviously, he's very unstable."

"I believe I was talking to Chandler."

"I prefer stability," he answers, his fingers squeezing mine to let me know, once again, that it's okay. "I really love where I work. Obviously, if a different opportunity came along, I would weigh all the pros and cons, do a lot of research, and really consider if it'd be the best move for me, but I like where I'm going with my current company."

I turn to Chandler a little, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "Did you take a class at some point in how to answer questions like this?"

"It was my minor in college," he whispers back, his breath tickling my ear and making me giggle.

"What're you talking about over there?" Ross demands. Chandler and I jump, somehow managing to forget that he's there.

"Chandler was just telling me that it's so nice that my brother cares about me so much."

Chandler nods enthusiastically. "It sure is. It's…refreshing."

"Refreshing, right. So, tell me, what are your intentions toward my _little_ sister? Other than mauling her in her own apartment."

"Ross, stop. We've been seeing each other for just a few weeks." This is not a question my newly minted boyfriend needs to answering.

"It's all right, Mon," he tells me softly, putting his hand on my knee. "Ross, I intend to spend as much time as possible with Monica. She's a wonderful, fascinating person, but I'm sure you already know that. We're still getting to know each other, though, and I certainly don't want to rush anything with her. I just want to be around her as often as I can and hope that she doesn't get tired of me."

"I won't get tired of you," I promise.

"That's precious," Ross answers, leaning forward again. "So tell me about where you grew up."

I groan; he's really going all out tonight. I grab my wine glass off the table and take a big gulp—I'm going to need all the help I can get.

* * *

*A/N…I can't tell you how long I've had one of these moments in mind—where Monica and Chandler are making out on the couch and she accidentally kicks Ross, I just haven't been able to figure out how to get it into a story. I think this fic is basically where all of my unused ideas will go to die…just as a warning.

Also, I saw that some of you didn't like Rachel in the last chapter. Well, cool. You weren't supposed to, so I guess I did something right :D


	6. Chapter 6

_*It would be my privilege to have my heart broken by you.*_

* * *

I hear a tap at my door and grab my bathrobe, hurriedly covering my half-dressed body before I dash through my apartment. Out of habit, I look through the peephole even though I know who's on the other side. I throw open the door a moment later and grin, Chandler's face breaking out in a big smile, too.

Before I can say anything, he grabs my waist and pulls. I wrap my arms around his neck and stand on tiptoe as he dips his head down to me, our lips meeting frantically for a few moments. I hear him sigh as he steps closer to me, his head angling a little more to deepen the kiss, and I hum happily at the back of my throat. I don't know if I'll ever get over kissing this man.

I feel his hands tighten on my waist, pulling me flush against his body before his arms slide around me, wrapping me up in a protective cocoon. I run my fingers through his hair as we kiss, the short strands soft and silky. "I missed you," I mumble around his lips, reluctant to part for even a few moments.

"Missed you, too," he answers softly. We pause for a few moments, taking in great gulps of air as our foreheads press together and our eyes meet. He laughs a little and shakes his head, capturing my lips once more. Really, it's been less than a week since I saw him last; he's had a lot going on at work. We've only talked once or twice, but we've been texting almost constantly. Still, it's no substitute for the real thing, and seeing Chandler now feels like a cold glass of water on a hot day.

Slowly, I unravel my arms from around him, my hands tracing slowly down his chest as I lower myself back to the ground. We finally break the kiss and I rest my forehead against his chin, breathing heavily. "Please tell me your schedule has calmed down," I whisper. "I don't know if I can go another week without seeing you."

I feel his lips press gently against my forehead as his arms tighten around me. "Yeah, things have eased off a little." My shoulders sag in relief. "This has been its own special brand of hell, hasn't it?"

I grin and stand up on my tiptoes once more, pressing another kiss to his lips. "You took the words right out of my mouth."

He chuckles and wraps me in a hug, and even though being around him is so incredibly comfortable and relaxing, my heart still thumps like crazy just being near him. I press my ear to his chest and can hear his own heart doing funny things, too.

"So, this is a nice look you've got going on here," he finally says, his fingers moving up to trace the edge of my bathrobe before pushing it off my shoulder. I feel his hips nudge me a few times before I back up, letting him into my apartment. He kicks the door shut just as his lips find my clavicle, and my heart pounds even faster. "What do you call it?" he mumbles, his kisses never ceasing. "Bedroom chic?"

Shivers ripple down my body and I clutch at his shirt, the tension in my fingers so great that I feel like I'm going to tear holes in it. "It's all the rage in Paris," I moan, my head tilting back as he moves to my throat.

"I like it," he answers, pushing back the other side of my robe. "It works for you."

I sigh happily, lost in the sensation of his mouth blazing trails across my skin until the haze in my mind clears for a few moments. With more strength than I knew I had, I push away from him. Both of our chests heave as we watch each other, a pained expression on his face. "That's enough," I say.

"Monicaaaa," he groans. "You're killing me."

I shrug and pull the robe back over my shoulders, making sure the sash is tight. "Don't blame me, buddy. You're the one who wants to wait." He makes a face at me but doesn't say anything, so I gesture vaguely to the couch. "Have a seat. I'll be ready in a couple of minutes." On shaky legs, I hurry into my bedroom and push the door mostly closed. I take a moment to lean against the wall, closing my eyes at the feel of lips lingering on my skin.

 _Waiting_. I can't believe we're still waiting to have sex. For two people as sexually charged as we are, the amount of restraint we're showing when it comes to this aspect of our relationship is monumental. But he asked if we could, and even though I want him so badly I can't see straight, it wasn't as if I was going to tell him that I couldn't wait to get him naked. I was ready after our first date. He told me that he just didn't want to rush into anything with me which, naturally, only made me want him more. So…we're waiting. Until the time is right, I suppose, but we're waiting.

Still, I respect his reasoning—he said he's jumped right into bed with people before and it never works out, so he just wanted to get to know me first.

He really is adorable, and I'm pretty sure I'd do just about anything for him, so waiting until the time is right to have sex is the least I can do.

I push myself away from the wall and start rummaging through my underwear drawer when I hear his voice again. "Everything all right? You're usually chomping at the bit by the time I get here."

I smirk a little as I pull on my bra—a cute one just in case the time happens to be right tonight—and dig through my closet for a sweater. He's pretty dressed down tonight, so I take my cue from him. "Sorry—just running a little behind."

He pauses, and I swear I can hear the smile on his face. "You? Running behind? You _are_ Monica Geller, right?"

I roll my eyes as I lean into my mirror, debating how much I can do without keeping him waiting even longer. "The dinner chef was late, so I had to stick around until he got there. Since I left later than normal, the subway was busier than it usually is when I get off work, so it took me longer to catch my train so I could get home." I wrinkle my nose a little—I probably don't have time to cover all the freckles on my cheeks and nose, though I suppose it doesn't really matter. While I'm sure he's seen me without makeup before, he definitely saw me a few moments ago when I couldn't contain myself and attacked his lips before he could get through the door. I'm guessing it bothers me more than it bothers him, and if we ever get to the next level, it's not as if I'll be able to wake up in the middle of the night to reapply my mascara.

"Just take your time, hon," he calls to me. "I'm not going anywhere."

 _Hon_. Why do I love that so much? I'm sure it has a lot to do with the fact that he's doing it accidentally—I can tell by his voice that he's already absorbed in the newspaper or his phone or the TV. It's only been a little over two months, but he calls me little pet names without even thinking about it.

This guy is truly incredible. I can't believe how lucky I am to have crossed his path that day. When I think about the fact that I actually considered leaving the coffee shop instead of waiting for him to get out of my way, I want to burst into tears. I have to assume we would have run into each other at some other point—it would stand to reason that if we both frequented the same establishment, we'd meet eventually—but I'm glad it happened then.

My heart flutters again as I apply my eyeliner, no easy feat as I grin into the mirror. It may have only been a couple of months so far, but they've undoubtedly have been the best of my life. I'm only guessing at this point, but it seems like Chandler kind of feels the same way. The casual, unconscious affection feels like a dead giveaway. From the first time we accidentally held hands, we haven't been able to keep away from each, though not necessarily in a dirty way. We just find ourselves walking with our arms around each other, or we'll squish into the same chair instead of sitting separately. I didn't think about it, though, until Rachel mentioned it last night. I was grinning at my phone like an idiot while Chandler and I texted back and forth—and Rachel showed me pictures of said grin to prove it—and she mentioned how we're already crazy affectionate.

The interesting thing is that she said we're not overly-affectionate, like we're trying too hard to prove that we're into each other, but that it's just casual and easy, as if we've known each other for years. Even though I'm still getting to know Chandler, that's what it feels like. I feel like I can just be myself around him and that he's been a part of me forever.

I know I've kept him waiting long enough, but I take a few minutes to try out a trick I saw to use lipstick to make your lips look more inviting. Not that he seems to need coaxing to kiss me, but it never hurts to let him know that I'm up for more.

He's an incredible kisser, too.

I sigh and give myself another look in the mirror. I run my fingers through my hair and shrug—it's as good as it's going to get. "So, what'd you have in mind for tonight?" I call to him as I grab a pair of boots out of my closet. "You didn't mention anything specific, and you know it doesn't really matter to me _what_ we do." I pull open my bedroom door and see Chandler sitting on the couch, staring down at his phone. "Chandler?" He doesn't respond; instead, he taps at his phone in a frenzy, probably typing out a response to a text. "Is everything all right?"

He finally looks up at me and I actually gasp when I see his face—he looks like he's been punched in the gut. His brow is furrowed, his mouth is twisted, and his eyes…his eyes look so sad and distraught. I drop my boots to the floor and run over to the coffee table so I can sit in front of him. "Honey, what's wrong?" I ask, putting my hands on his knees. "Did something happen?"

I swear I see a tear pool in the corner of his eye before he clears his throat and scrubs his face for a moment. "It's fine," he answers, his voice muffled from behind his hands.

"You're upset—it can't possibly be 'fine.'" He sighs and leans his against the back of the couch, his arms dropping down to his sides. "Chandler, talk to me."

The corner of his mouth lifts in an imitation of a smile and he sits forward again, resting his elbows on his knees. "Monica…I have something I need to tell you."

My heart twists painfully before dropping into my stomach. Nausea rolls through me. This is it. The feeling that there's been something he's not telling me was right. Inadvertent tears fill my eyes as I stand, moving away from Chandler. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, oh, my God. No. Nononononono."

"Monica…"

"I knew it," I exclaim, swiping at my wet cheeks with the back of my hand. "I _knew_ you were too good to be true. No one can actually be this wonderful. God, I'm such an idiot!"

"Monica, listen."

"No," I answer with a sniffle, turning to look at him for a moment before it hurts too much and I have to look away. "I haven't asked for anything from you, have I? Nothing except for you to be honest and…and…and...oh, my God, I can't believe it. You're married! You ass, you're married!" It all makes sense now—why he's never spent the night at my place, why I've never even been to his apartment, and why he disappeared for almost a week. He wasn't busy with work; he had to spend time with his _wife_. "I can't believe you would—"

" _Married?_ " he exclaims, his eyes wide with genuine shock. "Monica! I am _not_ married."

My breath hitches as I stop my tirade, his words not computing. "What?"

"I'm not married. Why would you even think that?"

My mouth opens and closes for a few moments as I try to get myself under control. I fail miserably. "Well…I mean…" A little sob works its way out of me and I collapse into my cuddle chair, burying my face in my hands for a few moments. "You're…you're the best guy I've ever known," I choke out, hiccuping as I speak. "You're almost perfect—there's no _way_ someone like you could actually be available."

"Mon," he says quietly. I wait for him to contradict me again, but he stays silent.

"It would explain why we haven't spent the night together yet. Or why I've never seen your place. Hell, it even explains why your Facebook profile is locked up tighter than Fort Knox." My head is swirling mess of doubt and agony right now. The last two months really _have_ been perfect…other than these nagging doubts I've been having for weeks. Things that Rachel and my brother asked me about—innocently enough, I think, or at least out of genuine concern for me—a while back, and those questions have been festering in the back of my mind since, no matter how hard I've tried to push them away.

"Monica, please listen to me," he says, and I look up to see him move to sit on the coffee table, taking my hands in his. "I'm not married. I swear to you—I'm not. Nor have I ever _been_ married. But…you're not wrong. I haven't been completely honest with you, either." My breath hitches and he tightens his hands on mine. "It's not nearly as bad as whatever it is you're thinking. At least I hope not. But when I tell you, please, _please_ hear me out before you say anything, all right?"

I take a few deep, shaky breaths and nod. My head is still reeling a bit from my intense reaction—or rather my _over_ reaction—but I try to listen to him. I mean, maybe it's insane to assume he's married just from a couple of simple things, especially thing that are very easily explained, and ultimately not really a big deal. He's told me that he has a messy roommate that always has girls over, so spending time at my apartment is easier. Truthfully, if his place _is_ messy, it's probably easier on me for us to spend time at my place, anyway. And _not_ having sex yet doesn't mean that he _can't_ spend the night with me. It just means that he hasn't. And the Facebook thing…well, some people have a lot of personal information there, and I can't necessarily blame anyone in a new relationship for not wanting to let a stranger have access to that stuff, especially if they have no idea if the relationship is going to last.

Logically, I know all that. Unfortunately, my heart doesn't give a damn about any of it. All of my old insecurities have been festering under the surface, just waiting for an excuse to rear their ugly heads. I honestly can't imagine what he could possibly tell me that—

"Monica, I have a daughter."

My entire body goes rigid and I feel my mouth drop open. "What?"

"I have a daughter."


	7. Chapter 7

_*What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the world and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. I'll give you the moon.*_

* * *

 _I have a daughter_. His words are ringing in my ears. _I have a daughter_. There was no need for him to ask me to wait say anything because I'm too stunned to say more than a word or two. "You…wha…have a…huh?"

He smiles at me sadly, his thumbs running over the backs of my hands gently. "I know. It doesn't make a lot of sense. But I have an eight-month-old daughter."

My mouth drops open. A _baby_? He has a _baby_? "What?"

"I have a little girl and—"HeHeHHH

"But you're not married," I interrupt, and even though I'm looking right at him, I don't see him at all.

"No," he confirms.

"But you're in a relationship."

"No."

"Then…how…I mean, you must have some sort of relationship with…" I can't say it. I can't say "the mother of your child." It's weird. It's too weird for me to handle right now. He has a _daughter_?

"No, I don't," he answers matter-of-factly.

I pull my hands from his and cover my face, my mind swirling as it tries to keep up. He's not married, and he's not in a relationship, and he has no relationship with…whomever…then did…?

"Oh, my God," I gasp, looking up at him. "Did she die? The mother, I mean? Did something happen to her?"

"No, she's alive."

My shoulders sag and I lean back against the chair, confused. "Chandler, you're going to have to spell things out for me, because I have no idea what's going on."

"I know," he answers, his eyes still sad. "And like I said, please just hear me out before you…well, before. The story doesn't make a lot of sense, even to me at times, but, ahh…I guess about a year and a half ago, I started dating this woman, Corinne. It was very casual, very early stages; neither of us would have said we were in a relationship, at least not a serious one. Anyway, about three months in—we were still pretty casual, I might add. We didn't spend every night together, we didn't see each other every day—she came to me and told me she was two months pregnant." My mouth drops open in shock and he nods in agreement. "I know. We always used condoms, but…things happen. But _that's_ why _we_ haven't slept together yet, and what I felt for her isn't even a fraction of what I feel for you. I know that sounds horrible, but it's true.

"So, anyway, I was stunned. I never expected that. I mean, who does? She was pretty freaked out, too, but we talked about it for a long, _long_ time. We talked about our relationship and where we saw it going. Incidentally, neither of us saw a real future in us, and we were both okay with that part. We both agreed, though, that we wanted the baby, so we'd try to work it out like that—with joint custody or something. Neither of us thought it was wise to try to maintain a mediocre relationship for the sake of a child because that always seems to end badly for everyone involved. We thought if we could stay friends, though, that would make everyone's life easier. I don't know—maybe I was that naïve. I think I truly believed it might actually work.

"So, we carried on. We gave a relationship another chance, just in case actually expecting a child changed things, but it didn't. After that, we worked on logistics—even though we weren't going to be together, we initially thought that living together might be for the best anyway. It was all very surreal, you know? I'd never thought much about having kids, and I honestly never considered having one with her, but all of a sudden…there it was, and we needed to figure it all out. We went to the all of the appointments and stuff, did all the things we were supposed to do." He pauses, looking at me with concern. "You still with me?"

I shrug and nod weakly. "Yeah," I answer quietly, processing.

"You need some water or something?"

I let out a tiny laugh at that. "Shouldn't I be the one offering?"

The corner of his mouth quirks up, but he stands anyway. "No, seriously, though." Without waiting for an answer, he goes over to the fridge and grabs out a couple of bottles of water. He gives me another sad look as he comes back to the coffee table, so I grab his hand as he passes the bottle to me.

"I'm just a little…" I try to explain, but words escape me.

Nonetheless, he looks relieved at the contact, his fingers wrapping around mine as he sits once more. "Well, hold on, because the ride gets bumpier.

"So, we get into the fourth month, and I admit that I was starting to get excited. I'd been reading all the books, so I knew we'd get to feel it move soon, and we'd probably get to know the gender, too. We'd gotten past the first trimester, so we were just toying around with telling our friends and families, you know? I knew it'd be hard to explain it to people, but the ones who really cared about me would back me up. Plus, as unconventional as my parents are, I knew having a grandchild would thrill them. But, ah…" He pauses and looks away, clearing his throat, and I lean toward him, wrapping both hands around his and give it a squeeze.

"What? What happened?"

"Monica, she…she went nuts. I hate to be the guy who describes his ex as crazy, but she really went crazy. To this day, I have no explanation for her behavior. We were actually coming up on the fifth month and getting ready for the ultrasound, and she told me that…" He pauses again, tears very visible in his eyes this time. "She told me that I didn't need to go to that appointment because she was going with the people who were adopting the baby."

For what feels like the millionth time tonight, my jaw drops open in shock. " _What_?!"

He nods his head slowly. "I know."

"No, no, no wait," I interrupt, leaning forward. I feel like I have to be misunderstanding something. "She put _your_ baby up for adoption? Without telling you?"

"Somehow, yes."

"How is that even possible?"

He heaves out a big sigh and moves back to the couch, settling in against the cushions. I follow a moment later, turning so that I can see him. I reach out and put a hand on his leg, needing to maintain contact with him, trying to reassure him that I'm listening. "I had a hard time getting information out of her at first. All she'd tell me is that she'd changed her mind, that she wasn't ready to be a mother, and that she'd found people who wanted the baby. I kept telling her that _I_ wanted the baby, but she wouldn't listen to me. And the thing is, she went on with her life as if nothing was out of the ordinary. She was still at my apartment most of the time because she'd been in the process of moving in, but she behaved as if we'd both decided that giving it up for adoption was the best thing for all of us _and_ that it was a conclusion we'd reached together.

"Monica…I never expected to want a baby so badly. I mean it when I say that I'd never given kids much thought, but knowing that she was about to just give mine away nearly crushed my soul. It wasn't as if she decided to have an abortion, which still would have broken my heart at that point, but I certainly couldn't have told her not to. But it turns out that, for as psycho as she was, she didn't really think it all through because I called our doctor to confirm our appointment, and I found out the new time. She'd never taken me off as a contact, so they didn't know that she probably didn't want me to have that information. Anyway, I tried to move quickly after that. I called my mom, who has a lawyer on retainer and agreed to help me. I got an injunction so that she couldn't just give up my child, and made it very clear that I had never agreed to give up the baby."

"Oh, my God," I whisper, shifting a little closer. "Chandler…"

"Anyway, I met her at the appointment, and confused the hell out of the poor people who thought they were adopting a baby. I still feel bad for them, too. It's certainly not their fault. Corinne told them that I was dead and that keeping the baby was too much for her. They weren't expecting me to show up. It took a few months of going back and forth to get things straightened out, too, honestly. Not with the adoptive parents because, unfortunately for them, they didn't have much of a leg to stand on. There wasn't even any medical compensation Corinne had to repay; they hadn't gotten to that point yet. I mean, they fought me on it a little bit, and I don't know that I blame them—it turns out that Corinne had been in contact and talks with them since not long after she told _me_ about the baby—but because one of the baby's parents refused to give up his child, there wasn't much they could do.

"Then it became a battle to actually get custody of my daughter. Corinne wouldn't stop fighting me on it, and not because she suddenly decided that she wanted to be a mother. She just thought the baby would be better off in a two-parent home. At least that's the story she stuck with. Maybe that's true. Maybe my daughter would be better off if she had two parents, but for now she only has me, so I do the best I can. But it still took forever to get Corinne to agree to sign away her rights to me. I guess she got tired of fighting, or she ran out of money for her lawyer, I don't know. But when she was eight months along, I finally got all the paperwork signed so that as soon as the baby was born, she was mine. I even had the lawyer put in a clause that, if Corinne changed her mind before the birth or shortly thereafter and wanted to be a part of her life, she could, but…nope. As far as the birth certificate goes, my daughter has no mother. It's just me. Other than just after giving birth, Corinne has never seen the baby. I haven't heard from her since."

"That just…" I pause and grab my water, taking a few sips before I can continue. "That just doesn't seem real."

"I know," he answers, smiling mirthlessly. "It sounds like a movie-of-the-week, doesn't it? I really don't know what changed in her mind, unless she always sort of felt that way. I still have a hard time trying to understand how she could simultaneously be planning a life, in a sense, for us and our child and also be searching for people to adopt the baby. I don't know her reasoning, and even if I did, I don't know that I'd care. She was so cavalier about it, as if we'd always wanted to give it up, and maybe she honestly thought I'd be happy with it, too. I don't know. I do know that I love my daughter more than anything, and as hard as it is, I wouldn't change a single moment of it."

He looks deflated and spent, as if he's been bottling all of that in for a long time and doesn't know what to do with himself. I hand him my bottle of water, which he chugs gratefully.

"What's her name?" I finally ask.

"Corinne?" he asks, confused, and I can't help the genuine smile that tugs at my lips.

"No, dummy, your daughter's."

"Oh, _her_." An ear-to-ear grin lights up his face, a smile I haven't seen on him up until now. "Katie."

"Katie," I say slowly. "And she's eight months old?"

"Eight months of trouble," he answers, looking every inch a proud father. "And completely beautiful."

"I bet," I answer. I want to see a picture, but that would probably be pushing it.

"Anyway, so the rest of the story. In the middle of all that, I found a new apartment for me and my friend Joey, who was kind of down on his luck at the time. The last thing I wanted was to have an address that she knows, you know? I mean, if things had turned out differently, I would have given her the address, but I didn't want more trouble from Corinne, and I knew I'd need a bigger place anyway. It has two main bedrooms and one tiny room that I use as her nursery. It wasn't easy to find even that, and she'll outgrow it before I know it. Hell, she's spent a good chunk of her life in the cradle in my room. But Joey's been a huge help—he's a mostly out-of-work actor, so I pay the rent and he provides childcare during the day."

"Wow. That's pretty incredible."

"It is. It helps that he has something like seven sisters, so he has a ton of nieces and nephews. He's good with kids, and he can't beat the price. We have daycare at work, but there's a waiting list, and they don't take kids under a year old, so it works for now. But…you can imagine how successful I've been at dating since Katie was born. Even having innocent conversations with women before she was born was weird. Inevitably, I wanted to talk about my soon-to-be baby, and it seems that a lot of women are really freaked out by the whole sole-caregiver thing. Ironic, because men are supposed to be understanding if the roles are reversed, you know? Since she was born, it's been even harder. I've gone on a couple of dates, and I've tried not jump right into talking about nothing but my daughter, but I haven't really been successful. Then I met you."

"What about me?" I ask, and he covers my hand, squeezing my fingers gently.

"I don't know what it is about you. I've never felt a connection like this before in my life. It's been hell not telling you about Katie, but I just wanted to see if we had a chance, you know? Before I scared you off."

I can't help but blush a little; knowing that he, too, feels the connection is thrilling. "So that's why…"

"Yeah. That's why you haven't seen my place—I can't exactly hide all of her stuff or kick her out for a few hours, and aside from my fairly obvious trepidation of winding up in the same situation with Corinne—as much as I love my daughter, I don't want to have another kid under those circumstances—I haven't spent the night away from her yet. I don't know if I'd be able to handle it."

"Awww," I say, immediately biting my lip. I feel goofy gushing over this, but finding out that Chandler has a daughter almost makes sense. He seems complete now, as if this is what I needed to know about him to make him feel…right. "I'm sorry. That's just really sweet."

"I get that a lot," he answers, without a bit of cockiness. I can imagine that a guy who loves his kid that much would be a huge aphrodisiac to women, at least in theory. "God, it's such a relief to finally tell you all of this. I've wanted to tell you about her for weeks, I just didn't know how. I mean, how do you tell someone after you've been dating her for two months that you have a baby?"

I shrug helplessly, at a loss. I honestly don't know, either, other than the way he just told me. "I guess that's why you have zero public information on your Facebook account, huh?" I ask, pieces of the puzzle finally clicking into place. "It must be packed full of pictures of her."

He chuckles a little. "Yeah. I'm definitely that guy." He looks up at me hesitantly, holding his phone out a little. "Do you want to see her?"

"I'd love to," I answer immediately, scooting closer to get a better look.

He types in a pass code and opens up the gallery. He swipes a few times until his grin somehow gets even wider. "Here she is."

He angles the phone toward me and I gasp. "Oh, Chandler, she's beautiful." She really is—she has a head full of light brown hair, eyes the same blue as her father's, and a big, silly grin. He swipes through the pictures slowly, and I see Katie in various states, usually grinning, sometimes with Chandler, more often on her own. "Oh, wow." I look up and smile, and the look in his eyes is hopeful. "She's lovely."

"She has her moments," he agrees bashfully. "And she has other moments where she's the most horrifying creature on the planet but…it doesn't matter because she's my kid and she's basically perfect."

Without thinking, I take the phone from him and sit back, moving through the pictures. He must have hundreds of them because I feel like I'm not even making a dent and all the ones I've looked at are dated within the last month.

"This changes everything, doesn't it?" he blurts out suddenly, and I look up, startled.

"What?"

"Me having a baby. This changes things, doesn't it." He doesn't even ask; it comes out as a statement, and a defeated one at that.

"Well, yeah." His face drops, and my heart breaks for him. "I'm sorry, but it does. I just want to be honest with you. Does it change our dynamic? Absolutely. Does it change the way I feel about you? Okay, well, a little, but not in a bad way."

"Really?"

I lean up and press a kiss to his cheek, resting my forehead against his temple. "Really. This is a lot to process—I mean, _a lot_. I doubt that it's all anywhere near sinking in right now, so at some point, I may need to step back and think about this. And by 'step back,' I mean just a few days or whatever to try to understand what all of this means."

"That's fair," he answers, and plucks the phone from my grasp. He takes a few more moments before giving it back. "Here—they start when she was born."

I see the first picture and unsuccessfully stifle a laugh. He's holding his newborn daughter, who must be all of five minutes old. She's red-faced, probably screaming, and he looks petrified. "Sorry," I tell him. "You just look so…"

"Oh, I know," he answers. "I still feel that way every time I hold her, but I think I do a better job of covering it up."

I scroll through a few more before I remember that he must have had some other reason for telling me all of this. "So, how does this tie into what had you so upset earlier?"

His face falls a little even as he watches me scroll through the pictures. "She's been sick this week. Nothing huge; just a low-grade fever and an earache, but it's the first time it's ever really happened and it's sent me into a complete panic. I know I'm just being a paranoid, overprotective father, but I can't help it. She's much better now, fortunately, but I've been on edge the whole time—terrified, imagining the worst. She hasn't been sleeping well and she's been really cranky, and I texted Joey to see how she was doing. She's still feeling okay—obviously, I wouldn't have left her if I didn't think she was nearly a hundred percent—but she's fussy. He said she won't really stop crying and whining. I guess—"

"She just needs her daddy."

"Yeah," he answers simply. "She needs her daddy."

"Wow," I whisper. "You're a daddy."

He smiles at me, though he still looks sad. "It's just hard being away from her right now, but I missed you so much and I just wanted to see you—"

"You should go," I tell him, handing the phone back.

He looks absolutely crushed. "What?"

"Your daughter needs you right now. You should go to her. I'll still be here when she's better."

He takes my face in his hands suddenly and kisses me—deeply, thoroughly, around his grin. "You're amazing," he breathes.

I shake my head, resting my forehead against his. "Not really. But I think you need her right now just as much as she needs you."

"You might be right," he answers, his thumbs gently stroking my cheeks. "Hey. Do you want to come with me?"

I pull back, shocked. "You want me to meet your daughter?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think she'd love you. She may not be very personable today, but she'll make it up to you later. I still really want to spend some time with you tonight, but I'll probably be distracted all evening if I don't go and at least check on her." His eyes light up and he takes my hands, giving me a couple of playful tugs. "C'mon. We can order in, hang out and watch movies. Make out a little if she settles down. You can meet my roommate _and_ the world's cutest baby all in one fell swoop…"

The idea is wildly appealing—now that I know that Chandler has a child, I really do want a chance to meet her and see him as a father—but I don't want him to feel like he has to spend time with me while he takes care of his sick baby. "I don't know."

"Please? She's going to meet you at some point, and you might as well see her when she's all grumpy. If you can deal with her like that and still want to spend time with us, I'll know we have to keep you around for a while." He leans forward and kisses me softly. "Please?" He kisses me again, his lips lingering on mine, and I know I'm done. Just the thought that there might be a chance that we'll get to do more of this later on is too good to pass up.

"Okay," I whisper against his lips. "I'll go with you."


	8. Chapter 8

_*I think I'd miss you even if we'd never met.*_

* * *

I think my palm is actually sweating as Chandler leads me up the stairs to his apartment, and I'm almost not surprised by the fact that his place is only about five blocks from mine.

He wiggles his hand against mine, looking over his shoulder curiously. "What's wrong?"

I just look at him incredulously. "I'm meeting your daughter. It's kind of a big deal. I wasn't even this nervous the first time _we_ went out."

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered or insulted," he quips before pausing on the stairs and coming back down a few steps so that we're on the same level. "She's only a baby, you know." His hands go to my waist, holding me gently. "She's not a surly teenager yet."

I scoff at him and he pulls me closer. "Babies are the best judges of character. They can almost always sense when something is off about a person."

"Are you saying there's something off about you?"

"Chandler, I'm serious. What if she doesn't like me?"

"She's going to like you," he assures me as he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to my lips. "She's going to _love_ you. If she doesn't take to you tonight, don't be offended, though. Being sick has made her clingy, and she's getting to that age where she sort of needs to see one of her constant companions at all times or she whines, but none of that means she won't like you. She doesn't get to cuddle with girls a whole lot, so she's probably going to be thrilled."

I narrow my eyes at him questioningly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he tells me, innocent expression firmly in place. "Just that falling asleep with her head on my bony shoulder probably isn't super comfortable, but getting to rest her head on your...you know…" His cheeks turn red, as if he suddenly realizes that he's talking about my body in a very familiar, almost intimate way and aside from light groping on occasion, parts of me that he has yet to be intimate with.

"My what?" I tease. "Go on; say it. You made a baby, for crying out loud, are you going to tell me that you can't name lady parts?"

" _Anyway_ ," he says pointedly as he takes my hand once more and leads us up the stairs. "She'll probably find you to be quite comfortable."

I roll my eyes as I follow him, my heart still racing. The last hour of my life is a big, swirling jumble in my head. This entire situation is huge—much bigger than my mind is willing to accept right now. Somewhere deep down, I know that this is about to move out of the realm of casual dating. Chandler probably can't really do "casual" dating with a child—he's going to be looking for a mate. A partner…

A mother.

Oh, God.

I don't know if he's even aware of it on that level at the moment, but one way or another, he _has_ to consider if anyone he dates will make a good mother. He _has_ to consider if she's someone he'd want to help raise his daughter.

That's really heavy.

He stops in front of a door—his, I assume—and takes both of my hands, weaving our fingers together. "Look; I get it. This is a big deal. I don't mean to make light of it, but I don't want you to stress about it too much, all right? This is just one person getting to know another. Just pretend that she speaks another language instead of, you know, not speaking at all."

I let out a sigh and lean my forehead against his chest. "This is not at all how I ever imagined tonight playing out."

"I know," he answers, wrapping his arms around me and I take a step forward, settling against him. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's not your fault," I answer softly, and my insides tremble a little at the feel of him against me. No matter what's going on in my head right now, my body can't help but revel in the nearness of _him_.

"Well, technically it is. We've been going out for two months and I neglected to tell you that I have a child."

I shrug and sigh again. "I don't know. Maybe I'll feel differently as all of this sinks in, but it might have been even weirder if you'd told me this on our first date. I feel like if you'd told me about Katie from the get go, you would have had a hard time explaining why her mother isn't in the picture without going into the whole story. Maybe it's better this way."

He kisses my hair and rests his cheek on top of my head, and my eyes fall shut as I relax into his arms. This is probably the calm before the storm, but I'll take what I can get.

I really hope his little girl likes me.

"Ready?" he asks softly and I nod. It's now or never. He pulls out his keys and opens the door, leading the way.

"Hey, what're you doing home so early?" I hear someone, probably Joey, ask in a thick, true New York City accent. "Something happen with Monica?"

"Yeah, maybe," Chandler answers, reaching out to grab my hand again. I let myself be pulled forward and smile at the dark haired man standing next to the couch. "Joey, this is Monica."

"Hi," I say, giving him an awkward wave. "It's nice to meet you."

His eyebrow lifts as he gives me a slow once-over, his mouth quirking up at the corners as he smiles. Before I can start to feel creeped out, he drawls out, "How you doin'?"

I bite my lip to hold in a laugh, looking over at Chandler. He's already rolling his eyes, an exasperated noise escaping his lips. "Umm…I'm fine. How are you?"

Joey's face falls and he makes an irritated noise. Chandler runs his hand up and down my back a couple of times before giving me a gentle nudge into the apartment, and Joey's eyes grow wide. "Wait, so you told her about…" He pauses, looking uncomfortable. "You know; the _thing_?"

"The _thing_?" Chandler repeats, sounding amused. "If by _thing_ you mean Katie, then yes. I told her all of it."

"All of it?" he repeats, his eyes going back and forth between me and Chandler. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Chandler answers, his hands going to my shoulders to take my coat. "So where is my goober? I thought you said she was fussy."

"She's been calming down a little," Joey answers as he bends down, and suddenly I hear a tiny cooing sound. "She's been better since I fed her dinner, so she's probably got a tooth coming in. She's been going to town on a teething ring since." He stands up with a baby in his arms, and Chandler's face lights up.

"Hi, baby girl," he says, his entire demeanor changing as he reaches for his daughter. "How are you? Uncle Joey said you missed Daddy." Katie smiles broadly as Chandler takes her in his arms, and for a few moments I'm truly overcome with just how beautiful this little girl is, and just how sweet it is to see Chandler so enamored with her. He kisses her cheek, blowing a few raspberries, making her laugh and squirm.

"You guys staying in for the night, or did you just stop by to check on her?" Joey asks, gathering up what looks like the remains of Katie's dinner.

"We were planning to stay," Chandler answers absently, lifting Katie in the air and wiggling her gently. "We're not interrupting anything, are we?"

"Nah. I have a date with a grown up later on, but my main priority was with her majesty."

"Yeah," Chandler says, kissing the baby's belly before tucking her against his hip. "Well, we're going to order in if you want to join us."

"I hate to turn down food, but if you two are going to sit around and make eyes at each other all night, I think I'll pass."

"Joey," Chandler exclaims, his face turning pink, and I try to stifle my laughter one more. I can't help but wonder what Chandler's been telling Joey.

"No judgment, man," he says, holding up his hands in surrender. "I just don't feel the need to be a third wheel." He grins at Katie, who blows a bubble at him. "Well, I guess a fourth wheel, right, Katie?"

Joey grabs his jacket off the coat rack and Chandler looks at him with confusion. "I thought your date was later tonight."

"It is. Doesn't mean I can't find another before then." He shrugs into his coat and reaches out to Katie, tickling her sides. "She ate most of her dinner tonight so I know she's feeling better, _and_ I changed her so she's probably good to go for a while. Other than that, you haven't been gone long enough for anything to happen. Anyway, nice to meet you, Monica. See ya!"

He's gone a moment later, and Chandler looks at me with a shrug. "He's a weird guy. He's a great friend and all, but he can be odd."

"He's really going to replace his date?" I ask, staring at the door in shock.

"Oh, no. He'll still go on that date. He's just going to find another one to kill some time until then."

"What? He can do that?"

"He's kind a ladies' man. You should see the parade of women he has cycling through here." He smiles at Katie, who clumsily reaches out to pat his face. "It's a good thing it doesn't seem to affect this little gremlin. I don't think she ever sees these women, anyway." He looks over at me, his smile softening a bit; Katie turns her face, too, and I shake my head and laugh. They look so much alike, it's ridiculous. "I guess it's time for introductions."

"Okay," I answer, smiling at the baby. She wrinkles her tiny nose at me and smacks her hand against Chandler's chest.

"Monica, this is Katie."

I lean my head against Chandler's shoulder, unconsciously reaching out to stroke her tiny foot. "Hi, Katie." I feel her toes curl beneath her little footie pajamas and my hearts does a flip.

"Katie," he says softly, getting her attention. "This is Monica. Can you say hi?"

She looks at her father like he's nuts before kicking her legs, bouncing up and down in his arms. "Bah bah bah bah bah."

"I feel the exact same way," I tell her as I hold out a finger and her itty bitty hand grabs on. She doesn't even hesitate before stuffing it in her mouth, her little gums working away at me. I look at Chandler nervously, but he just grins.

"She must like you. She won't eat just _anyone's_ finger, you know."

"Well, that's something," I answer, watching this baby in fascination. She studies me very seriously, though the look is somewhat tempered by her gnawing away at my finger—it's slightly ridiculous in a way that only a baby can get away with. "Any teeth yet?" I wince as my question is instantly answered, a tiny, sharp tooth nearly cutting into my flesh. "Never mind."

"All right, Katie-did, that's enough." Carefully, he extracts my finger from her mouth, earning us both a disgruntled look in the process. I wipe my finger on my pants as Chandler leans over the back of the couch, standing a few moments later with a teething ring in hand. "Here, your majesty." She chomps down on it as he clips it to her top—at least if it falls, it won't have far to go.

"Chandler, she really is…wow. I mean, I know I don't know her yet, but just going by the last ten seconds or so, she does seem pretty perfect."

"That's a popular opinion," he answers with a grin, kissing her little head. He tilts his body a bit, aiming the baby toward me. "Want to hold her?"

Before I can respond he shifts her to me and I wrap my arms around her automatically. I stare down at her, almost surprised to find myself holding her already, as she settles herself against me. She's soft and squishy and smells like "baby." I press my cheek to her head for a moment and take a deep breath. "Oh, God," I whimper. "I think I just ovulated."

Chandler snorts, his hand reaching out to stroke Katie's back. "If it's any consolation, I think she makes _me_ ovulate on occasion."

I laugh and take another deep breath; there's something about the scent of a baby that's soothing and intoxicating at the same time. She makes a noise against my neck and I give her room to breathe. She makes a face, gnashing her gums together, and I put the teething ring at her lips again, letting her bite down happily. "Looks like she's good with people."

"She is," he agrees, leaning against the back of the couch. "Though, I have to confess that it's more Joey's doing than mine. If it'd been up to me at first, I never would have let anyone else hold her. I was crazy about cleanliness, too. I had to actually watch someone wash their hands before I'd let them touch her. Joey—well, Joey and his sisters—helped me out of that. Like I said, he has a bunch of nieces and nephews, and he takes Katie out to Queens sometimes to visit. But I think that stuff happened with…one of his sister's very first, too, where she was super protective of the baby, tried to listen to all of the books, tiptoed around the crib. Turns out, that's all a _bad_ idea. Babies need a certain amount of dirt and grime to build their immune systems. At the very least, being super clean doesn't help them, plus, being around all those kids has helped to socialize her a little, and all the various parents who just grab whatever kid happens to be crying at the time has gone a long way to making her be okay around people, even ones she doesn't know very well. As long as she has a familiar face around, she's usually pretty good.

"And all tiptoeing around a crib does is make someone a light sleeper. We trained Katie to sleep through just about anything. I can't tell you how many nights we've sat here and played video games or foosball or just watched some stupid movie…doesn't faze her. I had her ears checked, just to make sure but…she's just a sound sleeper." He leans forward, tickling her sides. "The trick is getting you to _stay_ asleep, isn't it? Isn't it, you little monster?" She smiles and scrunches up her body, leaning closer to me to get away from her father's probing fingers. After a moment, Chandler presses a kiss to the back of her head, and I can't help but notice just how blissful he looks. He looks like he's where he belongs. He opens his eyes and smiles up at me before he straightens a little, capturing my lips with his. My breath catches in my throat—nothing has ever felt more intimate than kissing this man with his child in between us.

I think I'm getting in way over my head here, but I can't bring myself to stop.

I'm pretty sure I'm already completely in love with his daughter.

He releases my lips, giving me a few more gentle pecks before he clears his throat, standing up straight. He looks a little embarrassed, though I'm not really sure why. "You look like you're pretty good with kids," he says, rubbing Katie's back once more.

"My brother has a son," I explain, jostling the baby a little. She bares her gums at me again, this time refusing the teething ring, and I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean. "He's almost four now, but I've spent a lot of time with him since he was born. I've spent time with babies other than my nephew, too, and I've done all the basics like changing diapers, kissing boo-boos, making bottles, that sort of thing." I bend down and kiss Katie's cheek. She scrunches up again, but when I look at her, she's smiling.

"Well, I think Miss Katie really likes you," he tells me, giving the baby another kiss on the head before turning and walking toward the kitchen. I can't help but gape after him in shock. "What do you feel like eating?" he calls over his shoulder as he rummages through a drawer, pulling out a bunch of takeout menus.

I look down at Katie, her own eyes wide as she stares at me. "Bah goo bee," she says, angling her body as one of her arms stretches toward Chandler.

"No kidding," I tell her as I follow Chandler into the kitchen. "Um, hello?"

"What?" he asks, barely looking up as he sorts through the menus.

"You just left us in there. Your child. With a total stranger."

"You're not a stranger," he answers, leaning in to kiss my cheek. "You looked like you had everything under control."

"Well, to your _daughter_ I'm a stranger. I don't think she was too thrilled with the situation, either."

"She's fine. If she was upset, believe me—you'd know."

I look down at Katie curiously, and she stares back at me with wide, serious eyes. True enough; she seems perfectly fine now that she's near her father again. "I don't know about you, Katie, but this all feels very surreal to Monica." She purses her lips and blows bubbles. "Well put."

"Surreal how?" Chandler asks, holding up a couple of menus to me. "Chinese or Italian?"

"Italian," I answer, shifting Katie from one hip to the other. "An hour ago, you were just my boyfriend, and now…you're a father. You have this amazing little baby and you have all the worries and concerns that go along with it, and it doesn't feel quite real yet. I mean, I know I'm holding her right now, and _she_ feels very real, but it's still hard to believe that's really happening. Like, she should be your niece or something, because my brain's having a hard time reconciling this part of you with the other guy I've been getting to know. And, honestly, I feel a little stupid."

"Stupid?" he asks, his eyes snapping up to meet mine. "Why on earth would feel stupid?"

"Because you have a child and I never once suspected. I can't be all that bright."

"Monica, why would have ever thought that I have a kid? Just because you didn't guess a thing I didn't tell you doesn't make you stupid."

"But then I accused you of being married and actually having an affair with _me_." My cheeks heat up as shame washes over me once more. "What kind of horrible person does that?"

"First, you're not a horrible person. Second, in retrospect, my actions kind of made it look like I could have been married. I get that."

Katie squawks and I look down at her; her face is starting to scrunch up and her cheeks are turning pink as her lower lip quivers. I immediately force myself to relax, kissing her forehead. "I'm sorry. Shhhhh. I'm sorry. I'm upsetting you, aren't I? I always forget how responsive babies can be to tension and people being stressed," I say to Chandler, who's leaning back against the counter as he watches me with his daughter. "What?"

He grins, shaking his head a little. "You don't even realize it, do you?"

I look down at the baby, who seems perfectly content to pluck at my hair. "Realize what?"

"You're doing the bounce-swing."

My eyebrows jump to my hairline—that's a new one. "The _bounce-swing_?"

"Yeah, that thing people do when they're trying to soothe a baby where you sort of bounce back and forth while swinging the baby side to side. You're doing it right now. You've been doing it for a while, actually."

I pause, and it's only at that moment that I realize my body has definitely been in motion for some time. Katie looks up at me and says, "Bah bah bah bah. Ghee bo."

"I'm pretty sure that translates to, 'Carry on, mortal'," Chandler tells me, turning his attention back to the menu.

Self-consciously, I start to sway again, but almost instantly find myself falling back into a natural rhythm. "Well, what do you know, Katie? I might not be a lost cause after all."

"Ghee."

"Good point," I answer.

"So what do you want to eat?" Chandler asks, bending down to kiss his daughter's head again, his hand resting on top of mine while he gently strokes my skin.

"Doesn't matter. I eat just about everything. I don't even know where you're ordering from. Pick your favorite and I'll eat it."

"If you eat my favorite, what am I supposed to eat?" he asks, his face overly-serious.

I snicker, dirty thoughts running through my mind inadvertently. "You're lucky your daughter's here or you'd get a terribly inappropriate answer."

He grins, too, a wicked look in his eyes as bends down to my level. "Hold that thought," he says softly. A moment later, his lips are on mine, kissing me hungrily. I feel my knees shake a little and he wraps an arm around my waist, keeping me from making a fool out of myself.

"Since you're cool with it," he whispers against my mouth, "I'll just pick a variety. Joey'll probably eat the leftovers when he gets home, anyway."

I giggle a little, taking a step back. Katie snuffles, and she has a very unimpressed look on her face. "Pretend you didn't see that," I tell her, bouncing her on my hip.

"I should probably put her down soon," Chandler says regretfully, glancing at the clock on the microwave. "Yeah, it's just about bedtime. I'll get the food ordered then take care of you, all right, little goober?" She scrunches up her little body, pressing her face against my chest as her butt pokes out into the air. "You're silly," he tells her as he pulls out his phone.

I shift her a little and give her cheek a kiss, marveling at just how soft her skin is. "I wonder what it's like to be a baby," I say absently, "and have people constantly kissing your squishy little cheeks. Do you think they just expect it because that's what people have been doing to them for as long as they can remember, or do you think it freaks them out to see this big set of lips coming at them?" He shakes his head at me, but starts speaking to the phone as the restaurant answers. I just shrug. "Want to go sit down?" I ask the baby. She hits her hand against my chest. "I'm sorry—I forgot. You really don't care, do you? Someone probably carries you all the time, right? You're always kind of sitting down."

I wander into the living room and sit on the arm of the sofa, angling myself so that Katie can see Chandler over my shoulder. I prop her up on my legs and hold onto her sides; she looks at me funny, but when I don't let her go she relaxes into it a bit, her legs ramrod straight until she collapses. I smile as I prop her up again, and a moment later she collapses. This time, I can't help but laugh at her antics, and she smiles back at me, however I wouldn't necessarily bank on it being intentional. "You're all right, Katie. I'm glad I got to meet you tonight." She yawns and rubs face, her eyes suddenly bleary. "I know. It's been a long week from the sound of it. Your daddy told me that you haven't been feeling good. I'm glad you're better now, though." She yawns again, and I tentatively pull her to me, waiting to see if she'll protest. When she doesn't fight me, I rub her back gently, hoping to keep her soothed until Chandler can take her. "Hopefully, we can hang out together again, if your daddy is up for it. I think we get along quite nicely. Of course, you could be lulling me into a false sense of security right now."

"She likes it when you talk to her." I look up in surprise and Chandler smiles. "I don't mean just you specifically, but in general. She likes to be talked to. I spent a whole lot of time doing that when she was first born. I didn't always know what to do, so I figured if I just talked it would be better than nothing." He tilts his head, looking down at his daughter. "What do you think, Katie-did? Bedtime?" He chuckles, looking back to me for a moment. "I wish you could see her face right now. She looks perfectly content to stay right where she is. I told you she'd like your squishy bits."

"'Squishy bits,'" I repeat, rolling my eyes. "Nice."

He gently eases her out of my arms, which feeling astonishingly empty without her comforting weight, and she promptly curls up against his chest. "Say night-night to Monica, sweetie," he says gently, and I immediately stand and move closer to Chandler, leaning against him so that I can see her face. She's fading fast.

"Goodnight, Katie," I say quietly, reaching out to rub her back. "It was good to meet you." I lean forward and press one more kiss to her forehead.

"This probably won't take long," he tells me. "I'm just going to read to her for a bit and make sure she's dry. Make yourself comfortable, though." With that, he wanders off into what is most likely her room. I sit down on the couch, my entire body shaking for a few moments.

Make myself at home.

I'm pretty sure I already did that. Katie's hard to resist, though, and I already really miss her sweet little face.

I'm definitely in trouble.


	9. Chapter 9

_*Swoon. I'll catch you.*_

* * *

I probably shouldn't be doing this right now. Technically, all we're doing is kissing, but it still seems like poor decision-making on my part. After an evening of huge revelations, I probably should just go home and decompress but…I'm addicted to Chandler. I crave him.

Chandler didn't have much trouble putting the baby to bed—she must have really just needed her daddy—and we didn't say much of anything substantial while we waited for our food to arrive, and after it did, we put in a movie and ate, and I tried to compartmentalize all of the information that had been thrown at me all night.

We both relaxed as the evening wore on and our food was consumed, Katie only fussing once or twice and going back to sleep without much trouble, and after he put in the second movie of the night, I burrowed against his side, eager to be close to him. Not long after that, he tilted his head toward mine, our lips met, we've been making out ever since.

The only way we could be more cliché right now would be if we were teenagers.

We've done a fair amount of kissing the last couple of months—once we started it was hard to stop—but most of the kissing has been relegated to saying good night at the end of a date, or casual kisses while we're out somewhere. We got in a couple of decent sessions at my apartment until Rachel walked in on us one time, killing the mood even though she immediately went into her room to hide. The other time was when Ross popped in then pointedly sat in my living room and made awkward conversation with Chandler for more than an hour until Chandler had to leave. It was subtle and awful.

Tonight feels different, though. I suppose that's not surprising, all things considered, but we're kissing each other much more fervently than ever.

His mouth releases mine, both of us gasping as his lips trail down my throat. I shift, sliding completely onto his lap, pressing myself as close to him as I can. My head lolls back, granting him access to more skin, and his hands tighten their grip on my waist.

I grab his head and pull him back to me, kissing him hungrily. One of his hands slides under my sweater, his fingers almost tickling my skin with their feather-light touch. I feel him pressing up against me insistently and I whimper, rocking my hips against his a little.

"God," he whispers, his fingers digging into me for a few moments. "Monica."

I grin against his mouth, wrapping my arms around his neck. I feel him grow harder beneath me and my heart starts to pound faster. I do that to him. I turn him on and excite him. This incredible guy wants me.

He grabs my sweater and bunches it up, the tension in his hands evident as he shows amazing restraint. It feels like he wants to tear the damn thing off.

I pull away from him, gasping, my mind hazy with want. His eyes are heavy-lidded, his lips swollen from so much kissing. His chest heaves as he takes in air. I cross my arms in front of me and pull off my sweater, letting it dangle from my fingers for a moment as a flash of self-consciousness washes over me. His eyes grow wide, though, his pupils dilating, and he leans forward, pressing his lips against my collarbone. Slowly, with great care, he moves down my chest, his hands supporting me as I lean back. I feel his lips graze the top of my breast and shudder. It's been such a long time.

He sits up suddenly, pulling me with him. He grabs the neck of his sweater and tugs a couple of times until he yanks it free, tossing it over his shoulder. I run my fingers down his chest, watching goosebumps pop up all over him. He buries his face between my breasts suddenly, breathing heavily as his entire body shakes. He whispers my name again, his voice muffled, and I feel his tongue dart out against my skin. His hands move slowly up my ribs until his fingers graze the sides of my breasts tentatively.

I moan. Loudly.

I'd be embarrassed if it didn't feel so good to have his hands on me.

He comes up for air, glancing up at me as his lips graze across my satin-covered flesh.

My breathing grows shaky as his hands grasp me gently. I feel the bra strap slip off my shoulder as his teeth scrape over my nipple, and I bite my lip to hold in…whatever noise is trying to escape me. I grab the back of his head and hold him in place. I feel more than hear him chuckle, and he manages to move to the other breast anyway. I rock my hips against him more forcefully, my thighs trembling as they grip onto his sides.

He lifts his head, fighting against my hold and kisses me again, one hand cradling my head gently. I feel myself being carefully lowered to the couch, his body warm and heavy on mine, his skin pressing against me deliciously. It feels like heaven.

Our bodies move against each other slowly, his arousal even more evident from this angle.

His hands slide up my back again, his fingers fumbling with the clasp of my bra for a few moments until I feel it come loose. His fingers explore my back uninterrupted, and I feel something in my head start to snap back into place.

"Chandler?" I breathe against him, still unable to pull myself from him completely.

"Hmmm?" he mumbles, but I lose my train of thought as he starts kissing his way down my body. His nose nudges at my bra few times, exposing more skin but not moving it completely out of the way. I feel his lips on my ribs before tracing a line down to my navel. His teeth nip at my skin delicately and my hips thrust up of their own accord. I feel his hands at the waistband of my jeans and a moment later he gives a tug, popping open the button. I force my eyes open and look down; he folds down the top of my pants as his lips move against my stomach again.

"Chandler," I say again, a little louder this time, grabbing his bicep for effect.

"Yes?" he asks and looks up at me, his eyes twinkling as his fingers slide just under the edge of my jeans.

Another shudder works its way through my body but I force myself to pay attention. "Maybe we should stop."

His entire face falls, breaking my heart. "What? Why? I thought you wanted to?"

"I do," I tell him, running a hand through his short hair. "But a lot's happened tonight, and I don't know if this is the right time to add this element to the mix."

He sighs and turns his head, resting the side of his face against my stomach. "You're probably right." What? He agrees with me? Is he actually the sort of guy who hears a girl tell him to wait and he does it without trying to convince her for a while first? I didn't know men like this existed. God help me, but it makes me want him more. "I threw a lot of information at you in a very short amount of time. I guess the fact that you didn't go screaming into the night is an aphrodisiac."

"I think your baby is an aphrodisiac," I answer, making him laugh.

He kisses my stomach again briefly, before making his way back up my body. I feel his hands fumble with my bra again, but this time he closes the clasp. He readjusts the straps gently and I feel my heart beat faster. He's so sweet and understanding; a lot of guys would be really pissed off to be at this point then get told "no." Not Chandler, though. He gets that now I'm the one that needs some more time.

He wraps his arms around me, holding me tight, and presses his ear over my heart. He looks up at me sweetly, his face nothing but happy and content. His eyes are still a little hazy and I can still feel his erection pressing into me, but he seems completely at peace. My heart does a strange little flippy-fluttery thing before I have a moment of vertigo. I've fallen so hard for this man already, but I feel like I'm falling again, or maybe falling harder. Am I…am I falling in love with him? No. No, it's way too soon. You can't fall in love with someone you've known for just a couple of months, right?

I reach out and stroke his hair, his eyes closing in bliss. Is it too soon? Does it matter how long it's been? I can't help the way I feel, right? But maybe I need to take a step back—I mean, I _just_ found out that he has an eight-month-old daughter. That's not small potatoes. He was right earlier when he said it completely changes everything. There's no way around it.

"I guess I should get going," I finally whisper.

He turns his head and kisses my sternum before moving up to my neck. "I wish you could stay."

"And sleep in the same bed with you?" I ask as my eyes shut, his lips already working their magic on me again.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't make you sleep on the couch," he teases.

"I don't think I would trust us in the same bed together," I say softly, pressing my lips to his ear. His body trembles delightfully and I smile a little. "Besides, it would probably really confuse Katie."

He deflates a little, smiling up at me regretfully. "You're right about that." He kisses me again before sitting up. He winces and shifts his hips before offering a hand to me, pulling me up, too. "If you give me a few minutes, I'll get her all bundled up and we'll—"

"Are you crazy?" I interrupt, groping around on the floor for my sweater. "You're not going to wake her up just so you can stuff her in a cab to make sure I get home all right."

"I can't let you go by yourself. It's the middle of the night."

"Chandler, I'll be fine," I assure him as I slide to the floor, patting the space under the coffee table. "I have pepper spray, and I promise I'll let you know the moment I walk through my door. I'll be on guard, I swear."

"I wouldn't feel right letting you go home by yourself, though."

"So you think it's better to wake up your sick baby in the middle of the night?" I ask as I reach in between the couch cushions, finding only various baby toys. "Where the hell is my shirt?" I exclaim, feeling embarrassed to be crawling around on the floor half undressed.

Chandler slides down to the floor next to me and puts his hands on my knees. I put my head down for a few moments, composing myself. "I'm in my underwear," I finally explain. He just leans forward and kisses my forehead.

"Here," he says, and I look up to see him holding out a shirt. "Wear mine to get home."

"I—"

"No, really," he insists. "It's not like I don't have plenty of other shirts here. Take this."

He looks so earnest and concerned, and just a little worried about my mental state. I finally take the sweater from him and pull it over my head. Chandler's smell is suddenly everywhere, overwhelming my senses. He hands me my shoes and I heave myself back to the couch. Once my shoes are in place I look at him and shrug, hating that I feel so awkward all of a sudden.

"Are you sure you don't want me to walk you home?"

I smile a little, leaning forward to press a kiss to his lips. "I'm sure. It'd be silly to drag Katie out at this time of night. If Joey were here, that'd be one thing but…it's not that far, you know."

He sighs, kissing me again. "And you promise you'll let me know you got home safe?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die," I answer.

"I don't like this," he tells me, sounding resigned.

"That's because you're a good, kind person. I'll be careful."

With another sigh he stands and I follow suit, finally remembering to button my pants. I follow him to the door and he grabs my coat, holding it out for me. "You have your phone?"

I pause for a moment, trying to remember where I last saw it. I don't think I pulled it out the entire time I was here. I pat my coat pockets and Chandler opens my bag, rummaging through the inside until he produces it triumphantly. "You know," I say as I make sure the phone is secure in my coat. "You just went through my purse and I didn't even freak out."

He chuckles, handing it back to me. "Sorry. I didn't even think about it."

"Must be personal growth on my part." I pause for a moment, taking him in, and fight back a smirk. "You know, we've sort of bookended the evening."

"How so?"

"I greeted you at my door in little more than bathrobe a few hours ago, and you're saying goodbye to me in nothing but your jeans."

He looks down at himself, scratching his chest uncomfortably. "It was cuter when you did it."

"I don't know about that," I answer as I wrap my arms around him, pressing myself against him as we kiss. "I kind of like you like this. Shirtless and barefoot in just jeans is pretty hot."

He shudders, backing me against the door. "I'm going to have to take the coldest shower ever after you leave," he breathes into my ear, and my body responds to his instantly, my hips pushing against his. I feel smug as I rub against him, knowing that he's still so very turned on. I can't help but whimper a little, though, at the shocks it sends through my own system.

"Just make sure you think about me while you're in there," I tease, my hand sliding low on his hip. I grab his pocket and an instant later he snatches my hand away, his breathing labored and his body shaking.

"Any closer and I'll be embarrassing myself," he warns.

I smile, pressing another kiss to his lips before I duck out from under his arms. Slowly, he opens the door for me and I slip out into the hall. He opens his mouth but I just nod. "I'll let you know when I get home," I reassure him. "As soon as the door closes behind me. I swear. Good night, Chandler."

"Good night, Monica," he answers, leaning against the doorframe. A moment later a wail pierces the air and he grins at me. "Duty calls. Be careful." He leans out and gives me one last kiss before disappearing into his apartment.

I take a deep breath and head downstairs. When I get to the sidewalk I briefly contemplate a cab—it would be faster and safer—but as the reality of the evening settles on me the further I get from Chandler's apartment, the more I feel like the short walk would do wonders to keep my mind off of things for at least a little while.

And it does; I make sure I have my pepper spray firmly in hand before I set off, but focusing on my surroundings for the walk home definitely keeps my mind off of everything else for at least a short while. Any time thoughts of Chandler and Katie start to creep in, I force myself to be hyperaware of the world around me. I don't even let myself think about it as I walk up to my apartment, paying attention for anyone lurking in the stairs, even though no one has ever lurked in the stairs.

I push open my door, surprised to find that everything's quiet and dark. I look at the clock on the microwave, amazed to realize that it's after two in the morning. I really do lose track of time when I'm with Chandler. I pull out my phone and text him. _Made it home safe and sound. Didn't want to call and wake Katie_.

I go into the bathroom and start brushing my teeth, keeping my phone on the counter as I wait for a response. As I'm washing my face, it makes its notification sound. _Good. Sleep tight. Talk to you tomorrow?_

I dry off my face before I respond. _Tomorrow. Give Katie a kiss for me_.

As I walk into my room my phone beeps again. I kick off my jeans and underwear, pulling off my bra without taking off my shirt before grabbing clean undies from my drawer. I briefly consider changing into pajamas before I veto that—I really don't want to take off Chandler's sweater. I open my phone again and see that he sent me a picture message. I enlarge it and my grin nearly splits my face in half. It's Katie, arm flung wide open, little face illuminated by the light of a street lamp streaming in from a window. She's even more beautiful than I remember. All I can see of Chandler is the crook of his arm. Another message pops up underneath the picture. _She says thank you for the goodnight kisses. We'll see you soon._

I crawl into bed as I stare at the picture of Katie, fascinated. That little kid is something else. Logically, I know she wasn't at all aware that Chandler and I were having any sort of conversation just now, but it's still ridiculously cute to think that she cared that I sent her a kiss.

I bite my lip, the reality of the night creeping in. Chandler has a daughter. He has this tiny, utterly perfect little person that is completely dependent upon him. That's huge. It's bigger than huge. It's life-altering. It's a game-changer.

My phone buzzes again and I pull down the notifications. The corner of my mouth quirks up in a little smile. "Chandler Bing has sent you a friend request." Without hesitation, I swipe into Facebook to accept and go to his page. He doesn't post much other than updates and pictures of Katie and what looks like jokes, memes, and a few daily observations. I scroll back up to the top of the screen and see that he posted a new picture a few hours ago—Katie's happy little face as one of her adoring fans play with her. The caption reads, "Katie has a new friend!" and I realize that it's me. Well, really, just my back with the baby's face over my shoulder, but it's me.

My phone drops out of my hand and I curl up into a ball on my side. An instant later I start to weep. I'm not entirely sure why other than everything at this moment feels like too much. I'm no longer just dating Chandler; I'm dating him and his daughter. I'm not going to be someone he just messes around with, who he dates casually while we see what happens; I'm going to be a potential mother to this child. Maybe that's jumping the gun a little, but that's the only way I can see it right now. I don't think he'll ever have the luxury of just dating someone again—he's always going to have to consider who's going to be good for Katie. There suddenly feels like there's a lot of pressure on me, and there's definitely a whole lot more riding on this relationship now than there was earlier tonight. If I'm going to get out, I need to get out now, before I get in so deep that I can't leave.

The problem is…I don't know yet if I want to get out. I already know that I'm falling in love with this guy. There's no way around it. His only fault so far is that he didn't tell me about Katie sooner, and really, I can't blame him for waiting for that part. It's only been a couple of months, so it's not as if we've told each other everything yet. If he'd told me about having a baby right away, I very well could have bolted. I might not have bothered to get to know him before deciding that I wasn't ready to be a mother to someone else's child—a child that I already thoroughly and completely love. Maybe it's because she's a baby, and babies are just naturally easy to love and adore, but I'm definitely enamored with her.

I curl up tighter, squirming for a few moments until I can get myself under my quilt. I wrap my arms around my pillow and sob. I cry for Chandler and everything he had to go through just to be able to hold his daughter. I cry for Katie and the fact that she had a mother who doesn't deserve her. I cry because I'm scared, because I know that if I go forward with him, I could wind up as Katie's mom. I cry because if _don't_ go forward with him, I'll lose them both and that feels scarier. I cry because I'm excited, because this could be the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Mostly, I cry because I have no idea what to do.

* * *

*A/N...back when I first wrote this part, I sort of envisioned it as the halfway point, or maybe the end of part one or something. 200 pages later, I think I can safely say that this is most definitely NOT a halfway point (and yes-I'm on page 270-something with more to go. I'm insane). Anyway, I'm basically challenging myself-I'm not allowed to post unless I've written something substantial for this story. You know-if I want to post a new chapter, I have to write another chapter first, or at least make a dent in it. So far it's working. It's good motivation, I'll tell you that much. Anyway, I'm glad you guys are sticking with this and that you don't think I'm completely batshit for writing a story like this. I love you all!


	10. Chapter 10

_*The brave may not live forever, but the cautious never live at all.*_

* * *

Rachel stares at me, her mouth hanging open, and despite everything, I can't help but feel a little amused. It's rare that she's at a loss for words. "You okay over there, Rache?"

She blinks a few times, pulling herself out of her reverie. "Um…um…still processing."

I laugh mirthlessly. "No kidding."

"So, you've known about this for five days and I'm just _now_ hearing about it?"

"I've been trying to process it, too, Rachel. I don't quite know what to do."

"Chandler has a _baby_?"

"Yes, he has an eight-month-old," I confirm. Even though I've said it out loud multiple times today, I can understand why she needs to hear it again.

"And you haven't seen him since then?"

"No," I answer sadly, though this time it's my fault. I've been avoiding him for the most part, and I feel horrible about it. I'm such a coward. I've been burying myself in my work, grabbing a few extra shifts to keep myself occupied and busy, and so that I wouldn't have to face the world. As a result, I've only really managed to text him just a few times in the last five days. Of course, it means I haven't seen Rachel much, either, but since I had no idea how to approach this topic with her, it was probably for the best.

"Hasn't he gotten freaked out by that?" she asks, the shock seeming to start wearing off of her, which means the rapid-fire questions won't be far behind.

"Probably," I answer, pulling out my phone to scroll through his texts once again. "He hasn't said anything, but he's probably not thinking good things. I don't blame him. I'm not being a very good girlfriend right now."

"Yeah, but, he kinda dropped a really huge bombshell on you, you know? You need some time."

"Well, I told him that. I told him that it might take me some time to work my way through all this, but I don't think he was expecting it to be the next day. Even then, I still owe it to him to let him know what I'm doing." I've been very vague with him lately, though I haven't been outright lying to him. I've just told him that I've been working extra. I can't seem to work my way through this because I feel like I have two options at this point: The first is that I can break up with him, and that thought just kills me. It makes me feel sick to my stomach and my heart twist with agony. The thought of never seeing Chandler or Katie again breaks my heart. But the only other option is to go into this knowing that this is going to very quickly become a serious relationship.

I don't know why that part is freaking me out so much. I _want_ to be in a relationship. I want to get married some day, and have kids some day, buy a house, all that stuff. But something about going into it knowing that he already has a child feels different. There's less room for error. I hate the thought of us not working out somewhere down the line, but it's a possibility. We've only known each other for a couple of months—there's no guarantee at all that we'll be together in the long run. I absolutely hate the thought of us not working out, though I'm nowhere near ready to consider us as something long term. And someone with a kid is looking for long term. He has to, especially with a baby so young. Katie doesn't need people going in and out of her life like that. It'll just confuse her. She needs stability and people she can count on. She needs to know that the faces she trusts will always be there. It's really no wonder that Chandler waited to tell me about her, though I'm still a little surprised that he wanted to me to meet her so soon. I suppose there's no real harm in just meeting, but it felt like a big deal.

"Monica!"

I blink my eyes a few times, focusing on Rachel. "What?"

"You've been staring off into space for, like, five minutes."

I shrug and look back at my phone, even though the screen has gone dark. "Sorry."

"So what are you going to do? Are you going to break up with him?"

I pause for a moment before shaking my head. "I don't want to. I really, really care about this guy, Rache." She nods and looks at me thoughtfully for a minute before standing up from her perch on the chair. A moment later she plunks down next to me, wrapping her arm around my shoulders. "I know," I say. "If I don't want to break up with him, then there's only one thing I can do."

She squeezes my arm, resting her head on my shoulder. "I think…I think you already have your answer, Mon. Everyone already knows that you're going to be a great mom someday. Maybe you'll get to be one to Chandler's daughter, too."

A tear trickles out of the corner of my eye even as I laugh. "I think it's a little early for that, Rache. We're still getting to know each other."

Before she can answer, there's a knock at the door and we both groan. Ross has been over at our apartment constantly lately. He and Rachel are in an "off" rotation of their "on again/off again" merry-go-round, but he's in his obsessive nosy mode. If he's not asking Rachel questions about where she's going, where's she's been, who she's been with, then he's trying to weasel the information out of me. "If that's Ross," Rachel says as she stands, "want me to tell him you're on your period and can't be around people right now?"

I laugh as I grab my phone again, looking to see if I've missed a message. Nothing. "Yeah, see if that'll work." I shouldn't be expecting anything from Chandler—my communication with him has been spotty the last few days, and he's been easing off his own texts as a result. He probably doesn't want to seem pushy, but it's always nice getting a message from him. I look over my shoulder to see Rachel straightening her hair and tugging down her shirt and roll my eyes. She's just as bad as my brother—she always wants to make herself look good when she knows he's going to see her, that way he can "eat his heart out." Being caught between my brother and my best friend dating/not dating gets exhausting.

"Hi," Rachel says, sounding surprised.

"Hi." My head snaps up. "Is Monica here?"

She looks over her shoulder at me but I'm already on my feet. She opens the door a little wider and Chandler's concerned face comes into view. I feel tears fill my eyes but I take deep breaths, trying to will them away. A moment later he smiles at me, relief evident in his eyes. "Hi," I whisper, shame washing over me for letting it get this far.

"Can I…?" he asks, gesturing into the apartment and Rachel steps aside before I can answer. Katie's little face pops into view as soon as he takes a few steps forward, and this time I can't hold back a few tears.

"Hi, Katie," I say to her, my smile hurting my cheeks. She flops her head down on Chandler's chest but she grins back at me.

"Katie wanted to make sure you were okay," he says, my eyes going back to him. "I kept telling her that you were just busy at work, but she insisted. She can be pretty demanding when she wants to be."

"Well, that was nice of her." I take a few steps toward them; Katie's head pops up again and she bares her gums at me. "You have a new tooth," I tell her, the tip of one of her bottom teeth poking out. "Good for you!"

"Yeah, she wanted to show that to you, too. She thought you might want her to chew on your finger again."

"I'm always up for that," I tell her, close enough now to reach out. I run a finger over her soft cheek and she ducks away again. I look up at Chandler, concern written all over his face. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

He keeps his face carefully neutral. "It's okay. It was a lot at one time."

"It was," I agree, grabbing Katie's hand to kiss her palm when she reaches for my face. "But I still reacted badly. I shouldn't have avoided you."

"You said you'd need some time." He's trying to make excuses for me. This guy is probably more than I deserve.

"I'll just give you guys some space." We both jump, startled by Rachel's voice. I'd forgotten she was even there. "Let me just grab my coat." She reaches in between us awkwardly, and Katie makes a disgruntled noise when she's jostled a little. "I'm sorry," she says, trying unsuccessfully to put on her coat. "Sorry, sorry." She makes another attempt and it still winds up half hanging off of her. "I'll just…" She hurries out the door a moment later, looking terribly discombobulated.

"So—" Chandler starts, but I hold up a finger, silently asking him to wait. A moment later, Rachel rushes back in to the apartment and into her room.

"Sorry," she calls, reappearing a moment later. "I forgot my bag." She dashes through the door again and I just shake my head at Chandler. I reach around him and grab a key ring off the counter and dangle it off my finger, waiting. "I forgot my—" she says a moment later, her head appearing around the door. She grabs her keys off my finger without another word; her footsteps echo down the staircase for a few seconds before I know she's finally done.

"We good?" Chandler asks, amused, and I can't help but smirk in return.

"I think so. She'll be too embarrassed to come back, at any rate." I run my hand down Chandler's arm, grabbing his fingers. "Do you want to sit down or something?"

"Yeah. Is there somewhere we can sit that Katie can roam a little?"

I look around, my little apartment suddenly full of sharp points and wall sockets and a million other things that are dangerous to babies. "The floor, I guess. Here? I mean, the place isn't baby-proofed, but…"

"She can't go too far yet," he tells me as I take the diaper bag from his shoulder. "She looks more like a sea lion right now than a baby crawling. It's pretty cute, actually, but she has to be in the mood." As I put the bag down next to the couch, Chandler slides his hand around the back of my neck and pulls me toward him. He crushes his lips to mine, an air of nervous tension in his touch. I clutch his arm with one hand, stroking his cheek with the other. "Sorry," he finally whispers, pressing his forehead to mine. "I wanted to do that one more time, just in case."

"Chandler, I—"

"Don't," he tells me quietly, kissing me softly. "I want to be able to hold on to the fantasy for a little while longer."

"What fantasy?" I tighten my grip on his arm, keeping him close.

"The one where you're okay with me having a kid and you decide to give us a chance. I really don't want to lose you, Monica."

I look over at Katie, and though I'm sure it's my imagination, she seems to be giving me an appraising look, as if she too is waiting to find out my verdict. I smile at her and lean forward, giving her chubby little cheek a kiss. She gurgles in my ear. "Let's sit down," I say, dropping to the floor and leaning against the back of the couch. Chandler follows a moment later, sitting the baby on the floor between us. He holds onto her shirt while he digs around in the diaper bag, producing a few toys to entertain her. "You're not going to lose me," I whisper, watching Katie grab a big squishy ring and wave her arms in the air, silly noises falling out of her mouth.

Chandler says nothing, so I finally look up at him. He has a small smile on his face, his expression hopeful. "I'm not?"

"No. I'm okay with you having a kid and I want to give us a chance." He grins at me ear to ear, and I reach over and grab his hand. "But I'm just really scared."

He nods, his fingers tightening around mine. "I don't want to put any pressure on you."

"I know that," I answer, sniffling a little. "I know. But it's going to be different now. Before, we were just a couple—at least, that's what I knew us to be. We could just goof around and have fun, but now…you have responsibilities. You have a child. From now on, I have to be someone she can look up to and count on—"

"I know the implications of all this," he says, cutting me off. He glances down at Katie, who has maneuvered onto her back for now, happily chewing on her feet. The socks she was wearing just a minute ago have now been cast aside so she can inspect her tiny toes. "I'm not going to lie to you, either—I'm not really looking for something casual. I know that not every woman I've met over the last year is someone I want to spend my life with, but that's kind of where I'm going with all this." My eyes grow wide, his doing the same a moment later. "I don't mean with you." He cringes, smacking his forehead. "I don't mean that I _wouldn't_ with you. Shit. Jesus." I stifle a laugh. It's adorable that he's just as nervous as I am. "I just mean that whole point of me dating in general is to find someone permanent. I suppose that's what most dating is, though, isn't it?"

"It's trial marriage," I answer with a shrug, reaching out to tickle Katie's side. She just grins at me from around her foot.

"Right. I mean, I'm not interested in running down the aisle tomorrow or something, but I'm definitely looking for someone who's going to love Katie like she's her own, and who's willing to take on that responsibility before ever getting to have a child of her own. I know that's a lot to ask of anyone."

I'm quiet for a moment, thinking. "I think you're right about the double standard."

"What double standard?"

"The one you mentioned last week. If the tables were turned and I came into this relationship with a baby, I'd probably expect you to immediately be understanding. I mean, the whole single parent thing seems to happen to women a lot more often than men, and your particular situation is really unique, but that doesn't mean anything. It still happened to you, and you still need to find someone to…settle down with."

"Eventually," he agrees. "Hopefully, though I'll stay single forever if I can't find someone that's right for me _and_ Katie." He turns to face me and adjusts his leg so that Katie's boxed in, unable to go very far even if she wants to. "Monica…I don't know where this is going—where _we're_ going—all I'm asking for is the chance to find out. I haven't felt this way about anyone ever before. We might last five days, we might last fifty years—"

I take his face in my hands and pull him to me, effectively silencing him with a kiss. "Calm down, Chandler," I tell him with a laugh. "I already told you that we're doing this."

"I know. I just want to make sure you know that—"

"No pressure," I finish for him. "Okay." Aside from the pressure I'll put on myself. He's not asking me to be Katie's mom, he's not even asking me to be her role model or caregiver. He just wants to date me—well, date _them_. I look down to Katie, who's managed to roll over onto her stomach. I watch her eyes move, as if she's trying to figure out how she got herself into this. She props herself up a little, not quite making it to a crawling position. Chandler reaches out and grabs her sides, pulling her to her knees. Katie looks puzzled for a moment, really unsure of what just happened, before she reaches out and pats my leg. "Hi, Katie," I say softly.

Her eyes shift to me and a smile lights up her face. "Ahda boba bahbahbahbahbah."

"I think so, too." I hold out my hands, not knowing what to expect. "Want to come up?"

She sits back on her haunches with a little snort, her hand smacking my leg as she babbles. "Bahbahbahbahbahgahda!"

"Very interesting," I tell her. "But that doesn't answer the question." I gesture toward her again. "Do you want to come up?"

She looks at my hands for a few moments before her body starts tilting forward, waiting for me to catch her. I pull her onto my lap, her little legs splayed out on either side of my hips. She falls forward again, her head landing on my chest, and I feel her tiny body sigh. I wrap my arms around her and look up at Chandler.

He reaches out and strokes Katie's head, smiling first at her then at me. "She really likes you. I mean, yeah, she's very personable and sweet, but she really likes you."

"This is only the second time she's met me," I counter, leaning down to press a kiss against the top of her head, mindful of the soft spot.

"You said it yourself—babies are great judges of character. She knows what she likes, and she definitely likes Monica." He tilts his head to look at the baby and reaches out to tap her nose. "It's not naptime, silly. I know Monica's all sorts of comfy, but you have quite a while before bed." He shakes his head, looking back to me. "She's just grinning at me. The little gremlin knows what I'm telling her and just doesn't care. I told you, Mon—"

"Squishy bits," I finish with an eye roll. "You mentioned it." Katie relaxes against my body and I press my cheek against the top of her head, taking a deep breath of her baby smell. A powerful wave rolls through me, filling me with so much love and protectiveness for this little girl that I almost fall over. It hits me at that moment that one of the things I've been most of afraid of is losing Katie. That seems silly, considering I'd met her once before tonight, but it only took me an instant to fall in love with her. I'm afraid to get attached to Katie only to have her taken from me. If Chandler and I don't work out, Katie will get over it. She'll never even remember me. But I'll _never_ forget her, and it wouldn't matter if I have a dozen kids of my own one day, the fact remains is that little one has already won a permanent spot in my heart, a spot that would never really mend if she weren't here. It's scary as hell going into this knowing that Chandler comes with this type of baggage, and it's certainly not something I've ever experienced before, but the thought of losing Katie—and if I'm honest with myself, Chandler, too—breaks my heart. I already feel so connected to this man; I have since the day I met him. I know I want him in my life. I know I want Katie in my life. Maybe the scariest part of all this is that I sort of feel like I've found my family. I know that's jumping the gun, but…everything feels right. All of this. Spending time with Chandler while we do nothing at all important, holding the baby against my heart and taking comfort in her gentle presence. I want this. I want all of this.

But it's still a lot. And the fact that I feel like this about the two of them so quickly is alarming. It's alarming enough that Katie can probably feel my heart pounding, but I have to try. I have to see where this goes.

Chandler's arm slides around my shoulders and he scoots closer. I feel his hand rest on top of mine, his fingers stroking my skin gently. I turn my head and he kisses me softly. I press myself into his side and tilt my head, letting myself get swept away for a short while. I went a week without kissing him, had all of this information thrown at me, and then went almost another week without kissing him. I feel the need to make up for lost time.

"We can make this work, right?" he breathes, resting his forehead against mine. "I know it'll probably be hard, but…"

"Nothing worth having is ever easy," I answer. "Just be patient with me, please, and understand that this is going to be weird for me at times." I pull Katie away from my chest; she blinks at me, nonplused, her eyes a little bleary from nearly falling asleep against me. "It's going to be weird for all of us, I guess."

Katie blows a sleepy bubble and Chandler laughs at her, reaching out to tickle her belly. "I know, little monkey. Katie thinks it's going to be weird getting used to another person worshipping and adoring her."

"I can see why that'd be tough," I agree, plopping her on my lap. She reaches out to grab my shirt and Chandler hands her a teething ring instead. She stuffs it in her mouth, drool immediately dribbling down her chin. "So tell me more about Katie."

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything. Everything. We've talked about ourselves a lot the last couple of months, and now I want to know about this one."

"You mean, aside from the fact that she's basically perfect?" he asks, his head resting on my shoulder as he watches his daughter.

"Aside from that. That part is pretty obvious. I mean, you didn't maybe exaggerate any of that stuff about her birth mother, did you?" He lifts his head off my shoulder and gives me a look, his eyebrow arching in disbelief. "I'm sorry, but you know I had to ask. The whole story just seems sort of…unlikely."

"Believe me, Monica, I _wish_ I could have made that up. I wish Katie didn't have to come into this world under those circumstances. I'm only grateful that she'll never have to remember her mother leaving her."

"That woman doesn't know what she's missing," I say softly as Katie's nose crinkles up. "I can't imagine being able to give up my baby like that. I know that it happens sometimes, and I don't judge that. I always think it's best for someone to give their child away if it's going to be better for the baby. But to do it under those circumstances, and the way she went about it…it's just horrible."

"We get by, though," Chandler answers.

"Well, it's not like she looks deprived. She's obviously very happy."

He strokes Katie's hair softly, looking at her thoughtfully. "She was born August 2, at 7:34 pm. Seven pounds, eight ounces, twenty inches long. She likes to eat, but I think she's really picking that up from Joey and his family. Obviously, she can't really do solids yet, but I can put some stuff in her bottle. She enjoys that. She likes to sleep, but usually when she's not supposed to. The first time she slept through the night, I was awake the entire time panicking because I was sure there was something wrong with her. She talks an awful lot but she doesn't really say anything yet. She likes to be sung to. She seems to like the attention she gets when I take her places—people tend to fawn all over her. She's kind of a chick magnet, too."

I roll my eyes at Katie, who has moved onto chewing on her fist. "That's reassuring."

"Well, she is. You've said it yourself—she's an aphrodisiac. It doesn't go beyond anything basic, but she draws a lot of attention."

"Single dad with a beautiful baby? I can see that."

"I don't know. I'm still getting to know her myself. She has a lot of personality and she shows more of it every day. It's always an adventure with Miss Katie."

 _Always an adventure_ , I think to myself. An adventure. The biggest, scariest, most thrilling adventure of my life.


	11. Chapter 11

_*In this world, it is too common for people to search for someone to lose themselves in. But I am already lost. I will look for someone to find myself in.*_

* * *

Chandler kisses my neck, his teeth nipping at my skin. I squirm against him, not really trying to get away. I feel his fingers dance across my skin at the edge of my shirt, his touch only a whisper but so intoxicating. I grab the back of his shirt and yank it up unceremoniously. He chuckles against my throat before he grabs his shirt and tears it over his head. His hands disappear under my shirt, brushing the tips of his fingers over my nipples for a few moments before he wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. He presses his lips to mine and my legs wrap around his waist, urging him to me. His body fits against mine perfectly.

"Chandler," I whisper, my fingers digging into his back. "Please."

Together, we work my shirt over my head and he props himself up on his elbows. He looks down at me with a gentle smile, his hands sliding under my arms to cradle my head. "I love you, Monica," he tells me softly. His eyes are filled with so much emotion I think my heart is going to burst.

"I love you, too," I answer, reaching up to pull his face back to mine. We kiss each other deeply, our hearts thumping against our ribcages almost in tandem. His lips move down to my neck again and I hear a faint ringing in my ears. He kisses his way down my chest, careful to take a straight path, his mouth teasing me every step of the way. The ringing grows louder, drowning out everything but my own heavy breathing. He kisses my hip, pushing my pants out of the way. I gasp and thrust up, aching for him, desperate for him.

"Monica," he says, and my eyes snap open. I blink a few times at my surrounding before I realize that I'm alone in my room. My body hums with energy as I gasp—it was a dream. The ringing in my ears was my stupid cellphone. I groan and pull my pillow over my head, trying to block out the world and get back to my dream.

My phone stops ringing and I sigh with relief, taking a few deep breaths to get my body to relax. I feel myself drifting off when it starts to ring again. I grab the pillow off my face and toss it across the room with a quiet growl. I look at my alarm clock—it's not even six yet. Whoever's calling me better be dead.

I grab the phone off my nightstand, my ire immediately abating when I see a picture of Chandler and Katie flashing on the screen. I swipe "accept," smiling as I pull the phone to my ear. "Hi, honey."

"Good morning," he answers. "I'm sorry for calling so early."

"You better be," I tell him as I stretch and grab another pillow, pulling it to my chest. "I was having the most amazing dream about you."

He chuckles for a moment then pauses. "Really? Wait, really?"

"Well, who else would I have sex dreams about?"

"You have _sex_ dreams about me?"

He sounds so incredulous that I can't help but laugh. "Stop fishing. What's up?"

"No, no, no. I want to hear more about these dreams of yours."

"You first," I answer with a yawn, almost able to imagine him next to me right now.

"We'd be here all day, babe." Our moment is broken when Katie wails in the background.

"Is she okay?" I ask as I sit up, the feeling of lethargy instantly dissipating.

"Hey, sweetie pie," he coos, his voice immediately changing to "soothing daddy," and it's all too easy to picture him gently bouncing her on his hip. "You're all right. It's okay." He clears his throat before he comes back to me. "That's what I was calling you about."

"Oh, my God, what? What happened?" My heart lodges itself in my throat, panic welling up in my chest.

"Nothing. Everything's fine, I promise." My stomach unclenches by a fraction. "I have a non-emergency emergency that I was hoping you could help me with."

"What's going on?"

He sighs, his words all coming out in a rush. "Joey got a job at the last minute so he won't be home today. I don't blame him or anything—it's great that he got some work. Anyway, I hate to call you so early and I know it's your day off, but I was wondering if you'd be willing to watch Katie for me today. Please? I would—"

"Of course I'll watch her," I answer immediately, already crawling out of bed.

"Really?" he asks, relief very evident in his voice. "You don't mind?"

"Why on earth would I mind?" I go to my dresser and dig through for something to wear.

"Well, it's your day off, for one. I know you probably have things you need to take care of."

"Chandler," I start, exasperated. "First, if you thought I'd be too busy, why would you ask to begin with? And second, I'm not chained to your apartment all day, right? If I have anything I absolutely have to get done today, I _can_ take her out in public, right?"

He chuckles on the other end, Katie's cries reduced to pathetic whimpers. "I suppose that's permissible."

"I'm going to jump in the shower, and I'll be there in forty-five minutes, all right? Maybe faster, if I can manage it. Does that work?"

"Yeah, it's great. Seriously, Monica, thank you. We both really appreciate it."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I tease as I make my way through my apartment. "Talk to you soon." I click off the phone and toss it on the kitchen counter before he can answer and rush into the bathroom.

I hurry through everything and try to ignore my hammering heart, writing it off as residual from my dream earlier. It wasn't even one of the really good dreams, either—the phone call woke me before anything could happen.

I'm hornier than hell, though—I fully acknowledge that. I've been with Chandler for more than three months now and we still haven't slept together. In hindsight, his reasoning for not wanting to have sex so soon is pretty obvious. I know he loves his daughter with his entire being, but that doesn't mean he at all wants to risk having another child that way, especially with a woman he doesn't know all that well. I get it, and I respect it. Then after he told me about Katie, _I_ needed some time. While, logically, I know that any time someone has sex it could produce a baby, knowing someone that had it happen for them so quickly really does make you consider things a little more carefully. The last couple of weeks, though, we just haven't managed to get the timing right. He's reluctant to spend the night away from Katie, which I understand, but the thought of having sex mere feet from his sleeping daughter weirds me out in ways I didn't expect. The idea that I could scar her for life crosses my mind every time Chandler and I start to get hot and heavy on his couch.

So…we haven't had sex. In my dreams, we've done it every which way 'til Sunday, and each time, it's amazing. I'm hoping my brain isn't building this moment to unattainable heights.

Of course, he hasn't actually told me he loves me, either—that's another little bonus my subconscious keeps throwing at me. It's only been a few months, I don't really expect it yet, honestly. But, again, my dreams are creating this perfect little fantasy world for me, though my subconscious is probably trying to alert me to how I really feel about him. I've known for a while that I _could_ fall in love with him, and I was mostly likely already falling in love, but it feels like it has to be too soon for that.

I hop out of the shower and dry myself off, squeezing as much water as I can out of my hair. As I dress and put on makeup, though, I have to admit to myself that I'm nervous about spending the whole day with Katie on my own. I haven't done that yet. Chandler and I have spent plenty of time with her—we take her on walks when the weather cooperates, or we take her on errands, which Chandler and I seem to need to run at the same time now. Other than that, we just hang out at his apartment, and aside from spending maybe an hour or so with her on my own when Chandler runs out for coffee, I just haven't spent that sort of time with her.

More than once on our outings, we've been mistaken for a family, with people stopping us to tell us how beautiful our daughter is. Usually, they look at me when they say this, so I suppose it's just natural to say that to a child's mother as opposed to her father. There's no real tactful way out of it, either, so Chandler usually just says, "Thank you," and we carry on, always avoiding that conversation.

Not that Katie actually looks like me. Aside from her blue eyes, which really look like Chandler's more than anything, we don't have any markers that would make us look related. I don't blame people for the mistake, though, because I'm sure that if I saw a couple out with a baby, I'd assume they were a family, too.

This whole situation with my boyfriend and his daughter is still wildly complicated and overwhelming at times.

I try to push it all to the back of my mind as I blow dry my hair for a few minutes. I've gone round and round with myself over this whole situation for weeks and it keeps coming down to one simple thing—I'm crazy about the two of them. The thought of not having them in my life is much worse than the complications and confusions of right now as we try to deal with how our dynamic is going to work.

I dash back through my apartment to throw my pajamas in my bedroom, grabbing shoes and bag as I go. I glance at the clock and force myself to slow down just a little—all of that only took fifteen minutes. Even if I took my time walking to Chandler's, I'll still get there early.

Still, I hurry over to the couch and pull on my shoes, throwing a couple of things in my bag just in case I happen to have downtime today, when Rachel's bedroom door opens, my roommate glaring at me bleary-eyed. "What the hell, Mon?" she nearly growls.

I glance at the clock on the microwave, double-checking the time, before I lift an eyebrow at her in confusion. Granted, she doesn't usually get up for another twenty minutes or so, but it's not like I'm banging around the apartment in the middle of the night.

"You'll be all right," I tell her as I stand and go to the door, shrugging into my coat—it's May, but the mornings are still nippy.

"Where's the fire?" she asks with a yawn. "And the coffee?"

"Didn't get a chance to make the coffee," I answer, grabbing my phone off the counter. "And I…forgot that I had some stuff to take care of early today." It's on the tip of my tongue to tell her that I'm on baby-duty, but Rachel's been weird about the whole situation—rolling her eyes when I talk about Katie, constantly reminding me that I'm not her mother, that I don't need to spend all of my free time with the two of them. I've tried asking what her problem is, but she always avoids the question. At any rate, I don't have time to deal with her early-morning grumpiness. "I'll see you later, Rache."

"Will you actually be home tonight?" she mumbles.

I roll my eyes as I pause at the door. "I'm home _every_ night, Rachel."

"Okay—will I _see_ you tonight?"

"What's the big deal?" I ask, forgetting for a moment that I'm on a deadline. "I'm not allowed to spend time with my boyfriend?"

" _Every_ night," she mutters as she grabs a bag of coffee off the shelf.

"Oh, my God. First, can I remind you that while you were dating my brother, you were either at his place every night or here with _him_ every night? Literally every night of your relationship you spent together. Second, any time you've had a boyfriend since, you practically disappear until you break up. And third…I'm not even sleeping there. I come home every night, not that it's any of your business. We're both adults—we can come and go as we please. I don't have to check in with you if I'm going to be with my boyfriend for the night." Guess I've been holding _that_ in for a while.

"Fine. Whatever. It just seems a little too 'instant family-just add water,' if you ask me."

My mouth drops open in shock, and I see the regret in her eyes instantly though she doesn't say anything else. "You know what? I don't have time for this. I'll see you later." I pull the door shut behind me, harder than I mean to, and move quickly down the stairs. When I get outside, the streets are already gridlocked. What should be a ten minute cab ride, at best, would be at least an hour in this. With a sigh I turn and head down the sidewalk, dodging people as I go.

And try not to think about what Rachel said.

That's not the relationship I have with Chandler. I'm not desperate for a family, nor did I latch onto the first person that came along that fit that requirement. We're not acting like a family. I'm spending time with my boyfriend and my boyfriend's daughter. I'm not acting like Katie's mother, nor am I acting like Chandler's wife. I go home after my shift ends at work, which is usually the middle of the afternoon, shower, and take care of things before I go over to his place for the evening. I get to spend time with Chandler and play with Katie for a few hours, and it's nice. It's better than nice. The few hours I get to be with them every night are the best hours of my life. Just getting to hold Katie in my arms while Chandler reads to her at night…there aren't words for it.

Truthfully, I've been neglecting my friendship with Rachel a little for this relationship, and I hate that. I understand why that bothers her because it bothers me when she does it. I suppose I could take a night to myself once in a while, but I miss Chandler so much during the day that the time we spend together in the evenings feel necessary. And really, it's only been in the last few weeks—since he told me about Katie—that we've started spending so much time together.

I finally make it to Chandler's building and press the buzzer to his apartment, not surprised when he lets me in an instant later. I force myself to ignore the slight shaking of my hands and push my suddenly dry throat off as a side effect of hurrying through the morning crowds to get here. I've watched babies before, babies younger than nine-month-old Katie, and I've always been successful. I can watch my boyfriend's baby for a day.

No pressure.

When I get to his floor, the apartment door is cracked open. I tap on it before I give it a little push, though. "Hello?"

Chandler's head pops around the door, his arms full of baby, and he grins at me. "Hi, beautiful. Good morning."

My heart starts pounding again, but for an entirely different reason. I never get to see Chandler this early in the day—it feels nice. "Hi," I finally answer, smiling at him stupidly. I look at Katie and she smiles at me, her lips pulling in over her gums. "Good morning, Katie-did."

Chandler puts his hand on my hip, pulling me close to him. I reach up and wrap one arm around his shoulders, my other arm going around the baby. He presses his lips to mine, kissing me slowly. I sigh into his mouth; I want this every morning. I want to lie in bed with him and kiss each other awake.

Katie makes a noise, disgruntled, and we smile against each other. I move my hand to stroke her head and Chandler's grip on my waist tightens. It's all too easy to imagine this life—waking up with Chandler and lounging in bed for a while, basking in each other. Cuddling with Katie in bed with us, playing with her and tickling her and just being a…

Eventually, we break apart, our breathing ragged. "Good morning indeed," he says softly, his forehead against mine, our noses rubbing against each other. "You made good time."

"I was motivated," I answer, laughing low in my throat as I take a step back, though I keep my hands on the both of them. "How are you two this morning?"

"We're very, very grateful that you're helping us out today, aren't we Katie? And we're very excited to be spending the whole day with Monica." At the moment, Katie only looks interested in playing with her own belly; her tiny fingers pick delicately at her first onesie of the day. I must have a panicked look on my face, though, because Chandler laughs and strokes my hair. "I take it you're nervous?"

"It's only your child we're talking about," I answer, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Nothing to worry about there, right?"

"You'll be fine. I trust you implicitly."

I roll my eyes, stepping around him into the apartment. "You haven't known me long enough to trust me implicitly."

"I trust you enough to not doubt for a second that you'll take great care of my daughter. What's more, Katie trusts you, and that's good enough for me." I hear him shut the door behind me, and a moment later his hand goes to my shoulder to take my coat. I shrug out of it and he manages to hand the baby to me simultaneously. Katie immediately reaches up and pats at my face, her fingers groping clumsily. "Have you had any coffee yet?"

"No," I answer, kissing Katie's pudgy little cheek. "No coffee yet. I didn't even think about it. I wanted to make sure that I got over here as quickly as possible."

He smiles, bending down to kiss me before silently going to his coffee pot and pouring a mug full for me, adding cream and sugar.

"Gooooo bee," Katie says, breaking me out of my trance, so I give her another kiss.

"I think I have your daddy trained, sweetie." She snuffles and bounces up and down, her hands slapping against my arms. "Don't worry. You're still the queen bee."

Chandler chuckles and puts my mug on his kitchen table. "The list of emergency numbers is on the fridge. I doubt anything will happen, but just in case. Do you have any questions? I mean, you already know her eating and sleep schedules. Is there anything I haven't mentioned at some point?"

I look down at Katie, who stares at me innocently. She yawns and waves her hands around before putting her head on my shoulder. "Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she seems to be. She slept all right, at least as well as she usually does. She doesn't have a fever or anything. You know how she likes to fall asleep on you, though, Mon."

I rest my cheek against the top of her head for a few moments, rubbing her back gently. It's not untrue. The last few weeks, she's fallen asleep almost exclusively on me. Every night between seven and eight she curls up against my chest, her breathing growing steady as she listens to her father read her a story. It's one of the most incredible feelings in the world. I love that she feels safe enough around me to do that. It doesn't seem to bother Chandler in the slightest—in fact, the home screen picture on his phone is me and Katie in the rocking chair, the baby fast asleep.

Part of me feels like that's a really big deal; the other part of me thinks I have to be reading too much into it.

"Am I comfy, Katie-did?" I ask her softly. Her hand comes up to my chest and pats my shirt before she grips it tightly, letting out a big sigh. I look up at Chandler to see him holding up his phone and I roll my eyes. "Seriously? Don't you have enough of those?"

"First of all," he answers, pressing the shutter button again, "you can never have too many pictures of your kid. Not ever." That part is true—he has hundreds of them already, and I've taken dozens of her over the last few weeks myself, so I can't judge. "Second, my girls are absolutely adorable together and I can't get over it."

I roll my eyes again, ducking my head so he won't see me blush. "All right, that's enough."

He holds out his phone to me so I can see one of the pictures, and I have to admit that it looks pretty sweet. "This is _definitely_ going to be the new home screen picture. Anyway, she already ate breakfast _and_ I've changed her diaper."

"Daddy changed your diaper?" I ask Katie, bouncing her a little to make sure she's still awake. "First time for everything."

"Ha ha," Chandler deadpans, pulling on his suit jacket. "Just wait—you get to deal with her post-breakfast apocalyptic nightmare diaper."

"I can hardly wait," I answer, looking down at the baby. She looks so sweet and innocent that it's hard to believe the horrible things can come out of her.

"You won't be offended if I call a few times to check on her, will you?"

I lift my eyebrows at him in confusion. "Why would I be offended? I'd find it more surprising if you _didn't_ call to check in."

"I just don't want you to think that I don't trust you," he answers, looking sheepish.

"Chandler, this is your _baby_ we're talking about. Call as often as you need to. I'm sure you still check in with Joey from time to time."

"I'm not a crazy, paranoid dad, I swear, it's just—"

I put my hand on his chest, stopping him. "It's okay. You're allowed to worry. Call—it's fine. I promise you that I'll guard her with my life."

He puts his hand over mine, squeezing my fingers gently. "I really, really appreciate you sacrificing your day off for this."

I smile up at him before kissing the top of Katie's head again. "Doesn't feel like much of a sacrifice," I tell him. "I can't think of many better ways to spend a day. You're sure you don't mind me taking her out for a little while, though, right? Because I do need to get a few things done."

"Of course not. Have fun, though the amount of attention she draws is pretty unbelievable. I mean, I know we've been out with her together, but it'll probably be different with just you."

I roll my eyes and grab my cup of coffee, taking a tentative sip as I angle the mug away from Katie, just in case. She likes to grab literally anything and the last thing I want to do is spill hot coffee on my boyfriend's child. "I don't think the effect is the same, hon. Women walk around with babies all the time and it rarely incites riots with men."

He bends down and kisses Katie's head. "I'm not risking holding you again," he tells her. "She has fantastic baby radar, you know, and has on more than one occasion barfed all over my suit just as I'm about to walk out the door. This is already my second shirt of the day."

I wince sympathetically, lifting Katie in the air for a moment. She grins at me as I wiggle her gently, drool dribbling down her chin. "Well, I'm not wearing anything special, so she can puke if she has to."

"She probably won't since you're not wearing anything nice, but I hope you brought a change of clothes just in case."

I look at the baby warily as I put her on my hip again. "Uhh, noooo…"

"Rookie," he teases. "If something happens, just grab one of my shirts or my pajama pants. I have a washer/dryer combo off the hall."

"You do?" I ask, surprised to find I didn't know something so basic about him and his apartment.

"Had to. Katie goes through too much at a time to have to worry about finding a chance to get to the Laundromat. Anyway, I have a lot of meetings today, but if something happens, just call. They'll put you right through to me. And I'll—"

"Call to check on us," I finish for him. "Okay."

"I guess that's about it," he says, kissing Katie's cheek. She scrunches up, curling herself tightly against me while she laughs. "Oh!" He pats his pockets for a moment before pulling out a key on a ring. "Here; in case you _do_ leave, you'll be able to get back in." I know it's just for the sake of babysitting, but the thought of having his key still makes me a little giddy. "She'll probably cry when I leave—she does it most every day. I used to come back and comfort her at first, but that just wound up making it worse. Now I get to listen to my baby cry as I leave her behind and it in no way breaks my heart. But Joey says it usually stops within a few minutes, so don't get too worried."

"Chandler?"

"Yeah?"

"Go to work. I promise you can trust me with her."

His shoulders droop and he smiles at me fondly. "I know I can. I'm sorry. I go through this with Joey every day, if that's any consolation."

"A little, actually. Thank you."

He strokes my cheek gently for a moment before leaning in. My eyes flutter shut as his lips find mine, and I can't help but sink into him a little. "I don't do this part with Joey, though," he whispers, punctuating his words with kisses.

"Thank God," I answer, kissing him a little more firmly before pulling away a fraction, watching his eyes open slowly.

"I'll see you later, I guess," he says regretfully.

I shift the baby a little and wrap my free arm around his shoulders. "Have a swell day at work, dear," I answer teasingly. "I'll have your dry martini and smoking jacket waiting for you when you get home."

He chuckles, giving me another kiss. "You'd better, or else I'll be forced to contact the 'Housewives From the Fifties' administration and demand a replacement." He kisses Katie's head one more time, rubbing her back gently. "Have fun today, you two." He grabs his briefcase and gives us a look over his shoulder, his face a little sad as he waves at his daughter. A moment later he pulls the door shut behind him, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

"Boh boh boh," Katie says softly, her arm reaching for the door. "Boh." She looks up at me, her arm still extended, a worried look on her face. "Bah?" Her breath hitches and her face crumples, her lower lip sticking out. Big, fat tears roll down her cheeks as she starts to cry for her father, and my heart breaks for her.

"I'm sorry, Katie-did," I whisper to her. I walk away from the door and into the living room area, sitting us down on the floor near the couch. "I know this is weird for you. We'll get through it together, though, okay?" I pull her against my chest and rock her gently, waiting for the storm to pass.

* * *

*A/N…why is it I can always think of something to say here until it's time to post? Anyway, I have a picture to go along with this chapter, so keep an eye out on Twitter. I'll post it there soon. Also, just so you know, the rating is actually going to change soon so keep an eye out!


	12. Chapter 12

_*When I look at you, I can feel it. I look at you, and I'm home*_

* * *

"If you want to sit down, I'll bring your coffee out to you."

I look up from my squatting position next to Katie's stroller to the girl at the counter. "Oh, no, that's all right."

She smiles at Katie, who smiles back serenely as she throws her teething ring to the floor yet again. "I really don't mind. You can get your baby situated."

I open my mouth to correct her and my shoulders sag in defeat. I've been correcting people for hours, with a surprising number of people just not getting that I'm only her babysitter and her father's girlfriend. It's easier just to thank the people who compliment her and move on. "I really appreciate it," I tell the girl, but she just shrugs.

"It's no big deal. It'll be out in a few minutes."

Honestly, it feels like a big deal to me. Today has certainly been an eye-opener, and I can understand why parents are exhausted all the time. I know I'm just getting a fraction of the whole parenting-thing, but the amount of mental effort that goes into making sure a kid just stays functioning is astronomical, and Katie's fairly low-maintenance. At nine-months-old, I've bypassed a lot of the very needy stage of a baby, and for the most part, she's very interested in just watching things. And, of course, throwing things...and grabbing everything in sight. Still, there's a lot to worry about in general, and Chandler just makes it all look so…natural. I know he's been doing this for a while, and of course I'm terrified of hurting Katie in some way, so that doesn't help. But doing things with a kid in tow takes, easily, twice as long as without. I can't even imagine what it'll be like when she's big enough to walk on her own and wants to be independent and be mobile without a stroller.

I smile a little to myself as I park the stroller next to a table, easing into one of the chairs. I'm thinking about what this little girl will be like in a few years. I'm _really_ jumping the gun on this relationship. I've been dating Chandler just over three months and I'm already imagining being with the two of them for the long haul. I'm such a girl sometimes, I can't stand it.

With a sigh, I slump down in my chair; I really do feel as if I'm in the middle of a marathon. I look down at the little gremlin—and now I'm really starting to understand why Chandler calls her that—who just looks back at me with wide, innocent eyes. I lean forward and unbuckle her from her stroller, pulling her into my arms. "All right, Miss Katie. You've been very patient today, so thank you. I think we've done just about everything we needed to." My errands for the day have been fairly minimal—paying a few bills, running to the bank—but the baby has been surprisingly well-behaved all day. Even when I brought her to the grocery store to pick up things for dinner she only cried a little, calming down after a few minutes in my arms.

Chandler was right when he said Katie would calm down soon after he left. Her tears subsided and she carried on without a care in the world. I played with her, fed her snacks when she was hungry, changed her diaper, put her down for a nap—all without incident. The trouble came when I was left to my own devices. I desperately wanted to be nosy and poke around his apartment, and truthfully, I don't think that would have bothered him a whole lot. He doesn't seem to have anything to hide at this point, but I wouldn't want someone to do the same to me. Though I suppose I wouldn't feel terribly violated if Chandler were the one to go snooping. Instead, I cleaned his apartment. I have no idea what his reaction will be to that, but I had a lot of nervous, pent-up energy being there all on my own without the baby to entertain, so I had to keep myself occupied somehow.

But me being me, "cleaning" doesn't just mean wiping down the counters and straightening the cushions. I washed all of the dishes, swept and mopped the floors, organized all of Katie's toys both in the living room and her room, alphabetized all of his and Joey's video games and movies, cleaned the bathrooms—guy bathrooms are disgusting, by the way—dusted, put in a new load of laundry and folded the last, then put it all away. I even managed to vacuum the living room once I realized that Katie wasn't going to stir. Finally, I went into Chandler's bedroom—a first, surprisingly—and tidied that as best as I could without going through his drawers to put his clothes away. Apparently, he's not one to make his bed in the morning. I didn't touch Joey's room, though; I thought _that_ might be too much.

Chandler's probably going to think I'm psycho. He might appreciate the fact that someone cleaned the apartment for him, but I don't know that I'd blame him for thinking I've overstepped my bounds.

When Katie woke up from her nap she seemed happy to see me, so that's something. At least she didn't break down into hysterics. I changed her, gave her lunch, changed her again, gathered together all of the things I thought I could possibly need for an excursion with a baby and set out. Between the extra time it took maneuvering her and stroller through any sort of crowd and the sheer volume of people who stop to _ooh_ and _ahh_ over a baby, it's nearly time for Katie's second nap of the day.

I rummage around in the diaper bag with one hand, feeling wildly successful when I pull out the little container of pre-measured formula and the water to mix it. I try to put Katie back in her stroller, but she whines and clings to my shirt, so I figure out how to combine everything one-handed. As I shake the bottle I drop my head onto Katie's shoulder for a moment. How am I going to warm this up?

"Here's your coffee."

I look up, startled, having truly forgotten the reason I came into this building to begin with. "Oh. Thank you. Thank you very much."

I guess my face must look terrorized because the girl pauses, giving me a sympathetic look. "Is everything…all right?"

I look to Katie, who's eagerly reaching for her bottle with a determined look on her face. I can do this. I can feed this baby her bottle. I have a smart phone, for crying out loud. Google was invented so that I no longer have to think or guess—it'll have the answers. "Yes," I finally answer, smiling tentatively at the girl. "Everything's fine. Thank you. Right, Katie?" She makes a frustrated noise as she tries again for the bottle. "Well, it's almost fine," I correct myself. "Thanks again." I bounce Katie on my leg as the girl walks away and as covertly as possible, I pull out my phone. I always feel so judgmental of people who are glued to their phones with kids around, so I'm sure someone wouldn't hesitate to judge me right now. I open up the browser and Katie makes a frustrated noise. "Just one second, honey bun," I whisper, kissing her head. "Monica needs to make sure she's not poisoning you."

I sigh with relief when I find multiple sources that say it's okay to give a baby room temperature formula—thank God for Google. I stick the nipple in Katie's mouth and she instantly calms, sucking contentedly. She slumps against my arm, her hands on the bottle but not really holding it, so I keep it propped up for her. I never would have imagined that watching a baby with her bottle would be so fascinating, but I could do this for hours. The concentration on her face, the occasional snort through her nose as she takes a deep breath, the way her eyes start to grow sleepy as her belly fills, all of it is incredibly mesmerizing.

My phone rings and her eyes open wide for a moment before going back to sleepy little slits. I'm loathe to answer it and break the moment we're having, but as I glance over at the device I see Chandler and Katie smiling back at me. I maneuver the baby so that I'm holding her _and_ the bottle with one hand, and feel extraordinarily proud of myself in the process, answering the phone with the other. "Hi, hon."

"Hey," he answers, smile evident in his voice. "How are things going?"

"Great. I just sold Katie on the black market."

"Oh, yeah? Which one?"

"Slave trade."

"Nice. Start 'em young."

"Exactly. I knew you'd get it." I smile at Katie as I readjust her bottle. She smiles a little around the nipple, though it's probably gas.

"Did she fetch a good price?"

"Obviously. I mean, I wouldn't sell your daughter to just anyone, you know. Give me a little more credit than that."

He chuckles on the other end. "Didn't mean to underestimate you."

"Besides, I need to have enough money to escape to the Riviera and go blonde."

He bursts out laughing for a moment and I grin in response. He's always making me laugh; it's nice to return the favor once in a while. "I miss you guys."

I cradle the phone between my ear and shoulder and lean back against the chair, using both arms to hold Katie. "We miss you, too."

"How's she doing?"

"On the verge of a nap. Just to let you know, though, I'm somewhat of an idiot." Katie's eyes close completely, her body going limp. The bottle falls away from her lips and her eyes fly open, her mouth moving toward the nipple. I readjust the bottle for her and her eyes close again almost immediately.

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?"

"Because we're out right now. We ran our errands without much trauma and as a reward, and because childcare is _exhausting_ ," I stress without a hint of sarcasm, "I stopped to get some coffee. Since it's just about Katie's naptime I went to give her a bottle and realized that, because I'm really good at planning ahead, I had no way to heat it. Anyway, I did a search and found out that room temperature formula is okay, so that's what we're doing now."

There's a long pause on the other end, long enough that I'm worried the call has dropped before Chandler finally speaks up. "You did what?"

My forehead furrows in confusion as I glance down at the baby, who seems perfectly content to suckle in her sleep for the moment. "I gave her a bottle?"

"You gave my daughter _cold_ formula?"

My eyes grow wide as my heart jackhammers. "Oh, my God. Oh, God, Chandler, I'm so sorry." Tears inadvertently prickle the corner of my eyes as I pull the bottle from Katie's lips and her eyes crack open at me. "I checked online and everything said that it was okay because it can help the transition to real milk, and that you shouldn't microwave bottles because there can be pockets of scalding liquid and—"

He chuckles suddenly. "Relax, Monica, I'm screwing with you."

My mouth drops open in shock. "What?"

"I give her room temperature formula all the time when I take her out."

"You're such an ass," I whisper, sticking the bottle back in the baby's mouth.

"Hey, you're the one who sold her on the black market. Besides, you've been _with_ me when I've given her a bottle in public. Do you remember me finding hot water to run it under?"

I make a face, but mostly at myself. Now that he mentions it, I do indeed remember him feeding Katie when we've taken her out. I'm such an idiot. "I don't think I'm ready for the solo stuff," I mumble.

"Mon, I'm _teasing_ you. She's fine, you're fine. I didn't mean to upset you."

I sigh and look at Katie—now, she has one eye open, watching me while she eats, and even though I know it's my imagination, she seems to be judging me pretty harshly for falling for it. "Your daddy is _mean_ , Katie."

He chuckles again and sighs. "Is she sleeping now?"

"She's fighting it, of course, but she looks kind of blissed out." Both of her eyes finally shut and she lets out a big breath as her hands drift from the bottle.

"Nothing beats milk drunk. Hey, so, Joey called to let me know that he's going to be home for a few hours. He said he's probably just going to take a nap because he has to be back on set tonight, but I didn't want you to freak out if you heard someone rustling around when you got home."

 _Home_. If only. It feels like I'm at Chandler's more than I'm at my own apartment lately. "Thanks for the head's up. How's work?"

"Ugh," he groans, making me laugh out loud. Katie snuffles a little but her eyes remain closed. "Meetings are the _best_. I _love_ spending hours on end listening to people drone on and on and on. I had to stab myself with a pen to keep from falling asleep. You know all the texts I sent you?"

"Yeah?"

"All during meetings. Just trying to find the will to live, you know?"

"Well, does it help to know that I'm making you dinner tonight?"

I think I can actually hear him perk up. "You are?"

"Of course. You've been _hard_ at work at the office all day, dear. The least I can do is let you come back to a nice meal." I take the baby's bottle and put it in her diaper bag, pulling out a burp rag in the process. I rub her tummy gently, but she seems content to just sleep for the moment.

"Yeah, because taking care of my child isn't more exhausting than almost anything else," he answers sarcastically. "You don't have to make dinner, Mon."

"I know I don't _have_ to, but I want to. It may be how I make a living, but I do actually like to cook. I do it every chance I get."

"Only if you're sure you don't mind. I just don't want you to put yourself out. I can pick up food on the way home." I pause, waiting, and finally he just sighs. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I'll be home around 6, but I'll let you know when I'm leaving work, okay?"

"Okay."

"I have another meeting to get to; give Katie a kiss for me."

I smile down at the baby, who rests limply in my arms, her mouth open as she breaths deeply. "Will do."

He pauses for a while before finally saying, "Thank you for taking such good care of her, Mon. I'll see you in a few hours."

"All right," I answer softly as I watch Katie. "Bye."

He disconnects and I straighten my neck, working out the kinks from holding my phone awkwardly for so long. I hold the camera button and take a few pictures of the sleeping baby before finally putting the device down. I cover my shoulder with the rag and carefully lift Katie and rub her back, patting occasionally. She sighs again, snuffles a few times, and curls up, burying her face in my neck. I gently kiss her little head, letting her sweet smell waft over me. "I love you, Katie," I whisper. "And don't tell anyone, but I think I'm falling in love with your daddy, too."

Heaven help me, but I'm probably way beyond "falling" by this point.

* * *

*A/N...Someone made a general comment about putting so much emphasis on the word "love" in America, and I wanted to try to answer. Since the reviewer doesn't have an account, I suppose all of you will have to live through my manic ramblings. First, I don't know that "love" as a plot device is strictly an American thing. I see a lot different countries use this, and also put a lot of emphasis on its importance, because it is important. Technically, it's not the word, though, but the emotions behind that word. It's the emotions that are scary, the fear of putting yourself out there, the fear of rejection, the fear of actually being in love, which can be horrifying until you finally admit it. Whether or not you as the readers believe these characters are in love (or, for that matter, characters in any story you read) isn't entirely the point-it's what the characters believe and are ready for. To that end, in this particular situation, with Monica knowing that being in love with Chandler can lead to something much bigger than just being with this guy, it's not something she would enter into lightly, and something she would probably wrestle with for some time. It's the nature of this story. It's the nature of a lot of stories, honestly, and to me, that's what makes them interesting. The falling part of love can be just as much fun to read and experience. It's an important part of it, both in stories and in real life, and a completely different experience than actually being in love. Love is hard to explain, which is probably why so many people keep trying. One of my favorite movies says, "Talking about love is like dancing about architecture." It's damn near impossible, but we try anyway, over and over again.

Thanks for reading my stream-of-consciousness thoughts.


	13. Chapter 13

_*In this world, it is too common for people to search for someone to lose themselves in. But I am already lost. I will look for someone to find myself in.*_

* * *

Somehow, every time I'm with Chandler, my shirt comes off. Half the time, I don't even notice when it happens. Most of the time, my intention isn't even to make out with him so hard that my lips chap, but that seems to be a nightly occurrence, too. The pull I feel toward this man is ridiculous.

So far, though, he's explored a lot of my skin, at least from the waist up. It makes me lightheaded every time. However, since the night I met Katie, he hasn't attempted to take my bra off again. I'm not sure if that's because he's still nervous too, or if he's waiting for a sign from me. We've been sort of taking it slow, and even though every night it gets harder to leave him, and even though I've never been so horny in my entire life, something holds me back. I want Chandler so much I can't see straight, but something in me just isn't ready for that next step. Right now, it still feels too big, like it means too much to this relationship that we're building.

And Chandler…God love him, Chandler. He hasn't pushed. I know he's frustrated, at least when it comes to this part, and I _know_ he wants me, but he hasn't forced this issue. Instead, he'll just carefully pull my shirt back over my head and hold me until we both stop trembling.

We'll get there. I know we'll get there.

"Thank you for dinner," he mumbles against my shoulder, my shirt, naturally, missing.

My eyes pop open hazily. "Huh?"

"Dinner. It was delicious."

I scoff a little, grabbing the sides of his face to pull him back to me. "It was just chicken alfredo."

He pulls back and I make an irritated noise at the loss of his lips. "It wasn't _just_ anything, Mon. It was fantastic _and_ I didn't have to make it. Katie liked it, too."

I roll my eyes and wiggle my hips, getting Chandler more situated against me. "She got a couple of pieces of pasta in her mouth and I don't think either time was on purpose."

"Well, it's the thought that counts."

"Would you shut up and kiss me?"

He falls against me once more and my arms wrap around him. "The place looks great, too," he manages to say, and I make a noise in the back of my throat. He was shocked when he walked into his apartment earlier this evening and found that I'd used my nervous energy to clean. Once he got over the surprise, though, and walked around to get the feel of his newly-cleaned place, he seemed truly appreciative. I can only imagine the toll that single parenthood takes on a person, and that when it comes to prioritizing, certain things take a backseat to others, like cleaning. A Monica-level cleaning is probably unheard of. It's a good thing I like to do it.

"Yeah," I gasp into his mouth as his hips thrust against mine, my fingers digging into his back. "You should keep me around for a while."

"Mmmm," he agrees, and I feel his hands slide up my sides before he moves my bra straps out of the way. The garment suddenly feels insanely binding.

"Hang on," I mumble, giving his shoulder a little push.

"What?" he asks, not budging.

"Chandler, sit up."

With what sounds like a great amount of effort, he shifts onto his knees, breathing heavily, his eyes wild and dark. A shudder runs through my body. I sit up with him, swallowing heavily as I reach behind my back. His eyes grow wider, his chest moving faster, and I feel the clasp of my bra give away. I drop my arms to my sides and the bra falls, too. I struggle not to look away as I'm exposed to him.

"Oh, my God," he whispers, taking me in. He reaches forward and gently pulls the bra straps away from my wrists, letting it fall to the floor. "Monica…you're so beautiful." His hands reach out to me slowly and my heart starts to pound harder than it ever has before. His fingertips brush against my breasts and I whimper, his touch sending electric jolts through my entire body. God, I've needed this.

His hands slide across me slowly, carefully, and I see him look up at me questioningly. I give him a slight nod and he leans forward, capturing my nipple between his lips.

"Ohhhhh," I moan as my head falls back. My eyes shut as I feel his tongue move against me gently and I grab the back of his neck, pulling him with me as I lie back against the couch. He makes a noise as he settles on me, one hand coming up to gently caress the breast not occupied by his mouth.

I think I see stars.

He looks up at me and grins, his eyelids heavy with lust, before he switches sides, his mouth still gentle as if he's afraid to break the spell.

I put one hand on his head, my fingers threading through the short strands of his hair, and I force my eyes open. I study what I can see of his face as he works his magic, and it's utterly spellbinding. He looks content and fascinated.

He releases my breast with a pop and slides one arm around me, balancing on his elbow. He brings his free hand up, tracing patterns on my bare flesh, and it's so tender and reverent I think I could cry. I force myself to watch him again, finding myself fascinated by it all. "They're just boobs, honey," I finally whisper, hoping to lighten the moment.

He cocks an eyebrow, smiling up at me cheekily. "Best ones I've ever seen."

I groan and tug at his shoulders, pulling him to me. His lips meet mine again but his hand is trapped between us, his fingers squeezing me gently in time with the movements of his hips.

I could get used to this.

Oh, hell, I'm _already_ used to it.

It all feels so _right_. It's felt like that since the first moment we met.

His hand moves a little, his fingers dancing across my side and I jump a little at the contact. He grabs my hip, pulling me to him, keeping us pressed close together. I can feel just how much he wants me, and it's a heady sensation.

He shifts off me just a little but tightens his grip on me, his left arm still wrapped firmly around me. His right hand slides across my stomach, gently stroking my flesh. My skin tingles, coming to life with every touch. I feel him push at my jeans and I lift my hips a little to help move them out of the way and he immediately starts stroking my thigh.

I clutch at him, my nails digging into his skin as he caresses me, his hands roaming free, his fingers sliding under the edge of my panties…

Wait…

My eyes open and I pull my lips away from him with a gasp. "Chandler, wait," I whisper.

"Hmm?" he asks, his mouth already busy attacking my neck.

I push at him a little as I sit up. "Honey, stop."

He blinks at me a few times, confusion etched all over his face. "What? Why?"

I look down at myself and realize for the first time that I'm nearly naked, my jeans pushed down around my knees. I curl up self-consciously, trying to get my breathing under control. "I just…I'm not…"

He makes a frustrated noise and sits back on his haunches, burying his face in his hands, and I feel like the world's biggest cock tease.

"I'm sorry," I finally whisper. "I—"

"Oh, Monica, don't apologize," he answers quickly, moving over to gather me in his arms. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

"But I…"

"We were fooling around and we got carried away," he whispers into my hair. His hands stroke my back, and I can feel him pressing insistently into my stomach. "You didn't do anything wrong. You're not ready and that's fine."

"I just feel like such an ass for leading you on," I answer, holding him close. My body is throbbing with desire for him.

"You're not. I promise you, you're not. I know it doesn't seem like it, but I'm okay with us not having sex yet."

"Really?"

"Really. It's a big step, maybe even more so in our particular situation. Waiting is fine, this buildup is fine. Every moment I get to spend with you is amazing. I don't care that I've had to rub one out so frequently lately that I think I might actually be going blind." I snicker a little at that one, and I feel him chuckle against me. "It doesn't matter. I'm really okay with how all of this is going."

"Are you sure?"

He pulls back, taking my hands in his face. "If you're not ready, _we're_ not ready. When we're on the same page, when the time is right, we'll know. And maybe it won't happen on my couch."

"Or maybe it will," I whisper, "since we wind up here so often."

"Maybe," he answers. "I just want you so bad. I need you to know that. I'm not telling you that to change your mind, but just so you know. I want you like I've never wanted anything in my life. But all of this…we can wait. I just got swept up in everything, obviously. I didn't even notice what I was doing. You gave me an inch and I took a mile."

"It wasn't anything I didn't want you to take," I whisper as I stroke his forehead, trying to ease the worry there.

"I _want_ us to fool around like this. I really do. I want to play these teasing games with each other and for you to drive me crazy with desire. I want to do all the things leading up to sex before we get to that point because it'll make that moment so much better."

I shift closer to him, my movements a little stymied by my pants twisted around my legs. "All what things?" I press a kiss to his lips and his hands tighten around my waist.

He lets out a short laugh. "Monica, I want to make you orgasm." My eyes grow wide and he just shrugs. "I do. I'm sorry, but I do. I want to watch your body react to me and my touch, I want to know what you like and I want to know what you _love_. I want to know what makes your toes curl and your back arch." My heart starts to beat faster and I lick my lips, my throat suddenly dry. "I want to know every bit of you so that by the time we get to sex, it's going to be so good we can't stand it."

"I like the sound of that," I tell him, my voice suddenly much lower than normal. I clear my throat and try again. "Would this maybe be a mutual thing?"

He whimpers and his fingers dig into me. He puts his forehead against my shoulder for a moment as his breathing speeds up. "God, Monica. I think I'd just embarrass myself."

"That's all right," I whisper, my fingers trailing down his stomach until I reach the button on his jeans. He shudders but doesn't stop me. This is something I can do. Hell, this is something desperately want to do. I want to be intimate without being completely intimate, and for whatever reason, my brain never came up with this solution. What a way to take the edge off. Not to mention that I really, _really_ want an orgasm produced by someone other than myself.

"It's just been so long since anyone's touched me," he breathes, his entire body shaking as I carefully unzip his fly.

"This is the perfect time to get used to it again," I answer, my fingers dipping just below the edge of his boxers. Now that I know we're going to do _this_ , I'm extraordinarily eager to feel him, for him to touch me in return.

He grabs my arms and backs away from me a little; the look in his eyes is enough to drive me crazy with want. I lie back against the couch once more, waiting. He hooks his fingers into the belt loops of my jeans and pulls, discarding them carelessly on the floor beside us. I hold open my arms and he comes to me eagerly, pressing his lips against mine hungrily, both of us kissing each other senselessly, breathlessly. Together we push at his pants, laughing when they get caught on his foot. I let out a moan, though, when he tries to kick them off, his erection rubbing against me in the process. "Oh, God," I gasp, my entire body curling around his for a few moments. I suddenly feel like I'm going to embarrass myself, too. "Chandler…I don't think this is going to take me very long," I warn.

His eyes twinkle a little, though I feel him grow harder against my thigh. He says nothing, just looks at me with complete and utter adoration. I feel his hand on my stomach again and he shifts off to the side just a little. His fingertips trace the top of my panties and my entire body hums, waiting for his next move.

He does nothing other than gently stroke my skin, though. I grab his neck and pull him to me, kissing him roughly. He responds eagerly, but his fingers maintain their gentle ministrations. "What's the rush?" he whispers.

I pull back, staring at him as I pant, everything shaking. "You're kidding me, right? After all this, you're—ohhhhhhh." His fingers dip below my underwear suddenly, tracing over me lightly, but it's enough to make nearly go flying over the edge. "Chandler," I whimper.

"Monica," he answers, dropping his head to my chest. His free arm wraps around me as he latches on to my breast, and his fingers resume their feather-light touch.

I clutch at his arm and try to control the thrusting of my hips. I don't know why, but I didn't expect it to feel _this_ good. With the chemistry that we have, I assumed things would be good, but this…oh, my God, _this_. My eyes roll back in my head as I feel him part me a little, just one fingertip dancing over me. I turn my head and push my face into couch cushions, trying to muffle a long, loud moan.

He releases my breast and I crack an eye open; he's propped himself up on one elbow again, watching me. I make myself open both eyes and meet his gaze. His face fascinating right now, and the connection this creates is intense.

He increases the pressure suddenly, a second finger joining the mix, and the only thing that keeps me on the couch is his arm around me. "Ohhh, ohhh. Ohhh, yesssss. Please, more." He ignores me, though, maintaining that pace, and I reach for him blindly, suddenly remembering that I can take action, too.

I find him through his boxers, firm and hot, even with barrier of the fabric. He jerks into my hand, his rhythm finally fumbling for a few moments. His eyes screw tightly shut as he holds his breath. "Monica," he gasps as he body shakes, but I just trace a finger up and down his length, waiting. He finally lets out a long, shuddery breath and resumes his ministrations, this time dipping just the tip of his finger into me. So I slide my hand back up him, tracing around his naval for a few moments. He seems to relax, his touch going back to almost non-existent.

I lean up a little and kiss him; he moans into my mouth and I slip my hand down his shorts, both of us gasping out. I try to keep my touch gentle, but it's been so long. The feel of his silky skin is almost more than I can take. I turn into him a little bit and free my arm that's been trapped between us, wrapping it around his neck. I move my hand up him slowly, keeping my touch light, though his body is already shaking, almost vibrating out of control. "You feel amazing," I whisper, pressing my forehead against his. "This was a great idea."

He laughs unsteadily, kissing me soundly. A moment later I feel him slide a finger into me, almost immediately followed by another. The hand stroking him speeds up automatically in response as my hips push off the couch, searching for more contact.

His eyes go wide before he groans, burying his face in my neck. I slow down my motions but don't ease back on the pressure. He is so hard, it's unbelievable. His hips thrust into me, his body acting on instinct. "You're killing me, Monica."

"Mmmhmm," I whimper as the heel of his hand makes contact with me. My knees try to shut and keep him close, but he uses one of his feet to hold my leg down. I drop my other foot to the floor to brace myself, pushing against him harder. He teases me, moving his hand in and out slowly, achingly, sometimes out completely so that he can stroke me for a few moments, but I feel my body careening toward its inevitable conclusion anyway.

I tighten my grasp around him, moving my wrist in short, firm strokes; he growls into my ear as his entire body goes tense, his motions stilling for a moment, and I take my chance to go at him. I open my eyes, not realizing that I'd closed them again, to watch his face. His expression is twisted in exquisite agony, a cross between torture and ecstasy, and I've never felt so sexy in my entire life. Knowing that I can do this to him makes me feel incredible, and I want to do it to him all the time.

"Oh, God," he groans through clenched teeth. "Don't let me come first, don't let me come first," he pleads, dropping his forehead to my shoulder for a moment.

"Why not?" I whisper, moving my hips against his mostly-still hand. "I don't mind."

"I'll be useless after. I just want to make sure that you get to first."

He presses his lips to my throat and I try for a few moments to slow myself, I just can't do it. I'm desperate for more of him, and I need to see his release.

His hand thrusts back into me suddenly, the heel of it rubbing against me, never letting up on the friction and I cry out. I dig my fingernails into his back and my body tries to curl into him, my hips moving frantically. My motions still for just a few moments and he takes the opportunity to roll onto me, trapping my hand between us. My range of motion is limited, but he takes care not to cut me off completely.

Then…I feel his fingers change position, pressing up against me, and I know I'm done. This battle is almost over, but I don't feel that either of us could be considered the loser at this point.

My head falls back as his hand thrusts against me. My stomach clenches, everything in me tightening almost to the breaking point. I move my hand against him as fast as I can, no longer caring about anything but making him feel as good as I do right now.

He suckles at my breasts for a few moments, his breath hot against my skin as he gasps and groans, his body pushing against mine as we race to the finish.

And then, I feel like I'm falling, my tether to the earth snapping completely. My vision swims as my mouth falls open. "Ahhhhh!" I clench my teeth, trying not to yell too loudly in his ear, but my body keeps pumping against him, creating more friction. "Chandlerrrr, please." I don't know what I'm asking for at this point—more? Mercy? To never stop? All of the above, maybe. It doesn't matter.

I feel him twitch in my hand and through my orgasm I try to remember to keep stroking him, pushing my hips up faster and faster to create more delicious friction. A few moments later I feel him press his cheek against mine, wordless noises of pleasure hitting my ear as he releases against me.

I crack my eyes open to watch his face, not at all surprised to find that he's even more beautiful than ever. Another shudder works through my body and my eyes fall shut again. Our hips thrust against each other frantically for a few more moments, milking this for all it's worth.

My body finally gives out and I drop back against the couch, breathing heavily. Chandler collapses on top of me a moment later, his arms shaking as he tries to hold me. "Sorry," he whispers into my ear.

"For what?" I ask, stroking his damp hair. I kiss his neck and feel him sigh.

"Well, from the feel of things, I made quite a mess."

I sigh, wrapping my limbs around him. "Since when is sex of any way, shape, or form _not_ at least a little messy?"

"Good point." He settles against me, both of us ignoring the stickiness of our skin for the moment. All I want to do is bask in _him_. He pushes my hair back from my face and smiles at me tenderly. A moment later he leans down to kiss me, our lips meeting over and over without hurry.

"That was so _goooood,_ " I finally moan, unable to contain my smile.

"Really?" he asks, kissing my chin. "I wasn't too…teenage boy?"

"No, honey, it was just what I needed. It was perfect."

" _You're_ perfect," he whispers. I look up at him and swallow, There's so much in his face right now. I feel myself blush and shake my head, but he just leans down to kiss me again. "Thank you for doing this with me."

"Thank _you_ for thinking of it. I can't believe it never occurred to me. I guess I just assumed you'd want to go for standard sex."

"Hey, I wouldn't be opposed to that either, you know. But the more we've just fooled around with each other, the more I realized how much fun it is to do _this_ , too. And the more we do _this_ , the more we get to know each other. I meant it when I said that I want to know you so well that by the time we get to sex it'll be the best thing ever."

"Well," I answer, leaning up to trail my lips down his throat. "If what we just did is any indication, we're in for a hell of a ride. I guess I'd just forgotten that there is _so much_ we can do before we get to anything else."

"Oh, yeah. And maybe it'll help with my stamina." I lift an eyebrow at him in question and he just smiles at me regretfully. "Unfortunately, I tend to be a little…quick on the trigger. Sorry. But what I lack in staying power, I make up for in foreplay."

I wrap my arms around him, bringing him down to kiss him reassuringly. "Oh, honey…you know that real sex isn't like porn, right?" He goes to scoff at me, but I cut him off. "No, really. Women don't expect the actual act of sex to last half an hour or forty minutes or something else ridiculous. Most of us would never _want_ it to last that long."

"Really?" he asks, looking hopeful.

"Do you have any idea of how much that would start to chafe?"

He bursts out laughing and gives me a kiss. "I never thought of that."

"God, I think even ten minutes might be pushing it at times. I mean, we have things to do, too." He chuckles and I grin at him. "So, yes, lots of foreplay. That's good—I like that. And then sex that lasts the exact right amount of time."

"You sure you're not saying that to make me feel better?"

"Chandler, I have no idea how I'm forming coherent sentences. There's no way in hell I could make up something like that right now."

He chuckles, kissing me again. "Thank you." He sighs deeply, looking a touch remorseful. "I guess I should get up before we're permanently stuck together."

"Ewww," I answer, laughing.

"Yeah. I'm going to clean up really fast and I'll be right back with something for you, too, okay?"

"All right," I answer dreamily. He gives me another quick peck and peels himself off me, staggering when he gets to his feet.

"God," he mumbles to himself as he regains his balance. A few moments later, I hear the bathroom light click on and I stretch myself out, feeling fairly boneless at the moment. I don't know if I need to tell him this yet, but that might have been the greatest orgasm I've ever had in my life. I can still feel the vibrations down to my toes. I can't wait to do that with him again.

I feel a warm cloth touch my stomach and my eyes flutter open to see Chandler smiling at me regretfully. "Didn't mean to wake you up."

"I didn't realize I was asleep," I answer as he kneels next to me. He wipes my skin gently, his eyes sweeping over my body. I realize that he's wearing a fresh pair of boxers, so I must have been out for a few minutes at least. He shifts his hips a little, and I notice that he's at least partially erect again. My hand automatically reaches out, caressing him through his shorts. His eyes slam shut as his hand on me stills. He breathes in raggedly and I can't help but groan softly at the feel of him again.

"Monica," he whispers warningly, but I just reach a finger into the fly of his underwear.

"I could take care of that for you," I answer softly. His eyes grow wide and I nod a little, my hand sliding completely into his shorts as I use the other to tug at his arm, trying to get him to stand.

He backs away from me suddenly, shaking his head. "I would last all of three seconds like that, Mon."

"Doesn't bother me," I whisper as I sit up, reaching for him.

"It bothers me," he answers, grabbing my hands and kissing my palms. "I think I need to work up to a blow job."

"Pity," I answer, my mind still hazy with post-coital bliss. "I'm really good at those."

"God," he groans, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around me. I lean back against the couch as he rests his head over my heart, my hands stroking the soft skin of his back. He moves his head a little, pressing a kiss to the underside of my breast, and wave after wave of utter contentment washes over me.

"I checked on Katie," he finally mumbles, his lips never leaving my skin. "She managed to sleep through the entire ruckus."

Katie. At the mention of his daughter, the haze over my brain lifts immediately. "She did?" I ask, trying not to let myself get weirded out.

"Yeah. I told you she's a sound sleeper."

I maneuver out of his arms and he blinks at me in surprise. I grab my shirt off the ground, suddenly hyperaware of my near naked state, and pull it over my head, shrugging. "Chilly."

He crawls onto the couch, holding out his arms to me. "Here; I'll keep you warm."

"That's all right," I answer, pulling my jeans out of the tangle of clothes on the floor. "I should get going anyway."

"Monica…I know what you're thinking."

"What am I thinking?" I ask defensively, unable to get my pants right side out.

"Katie doesn't understand what happened out here. Even if she was awake, she wouldn't know. Hearing people make sex noises isn't going to damage her."

"You don't know that."

"Actually, I kind of do." He yanks on his own t-shirt, giving me an irritated look. "Parents with kids have sex all the time. That's how some people have so many kids. Most kids come out of that situation as perfectly normal, functioning adults, other than being grossed out once or twice from hearing a headboard hit the wall on occasion."

He has a valid point, but my brain won't let me focus on that. " _We're_ not her parents, Chandler," I whisper, standing up to try to straighten out my pants.

"Jesus, stop being so defensive! I'm just saying that people with kids still have sex. Single people with kids have sex, too. It's not going to warp her little mind. Hell, if the number of women Joey has paraded through here since Katie was born is any indication, it's not even a blip on her radar. She doesn't even know what most sounds mean yet." He stands up, putting his hands gently on my hips. "Don't freak out," he pleads. "There's nothing wrong with what we did or where we did it."

"I know," I answer with a sigh, leaning my head against his chest. "I know. It just feels like it _should_ be wrong, you know?"

"Would you feel that way if you'd been with her since birth? I mean, if you were the one to actually have her, are you telling me that we wouldn't have had sex again by this point?"

"Chandler…I don't know, okay? I don't. You're probably right—if she were my baby, I might not even think about it, but I'm coming into all of this when she's nearly a year old. I can't help that my mind has to try to work through this."

"Okay," he answers softly, wrapping his arms around me carefully. "Just don't disappear on me again, all right? Especially not after tonight. My fragile ego wouldn't be able to take it."

I take a deep breath and nod, trying to rationalize as best as I can. He's right—Katie's still asleep, completely unaware of what her father and I were doing just a few dozen feet from her tiny, innocent form. "Here's the thing, though; I tend to get loud. Maybe not to the point of screaming, but I'm not really quiet during sex."

"And that's a bad thing because…?"

I tilt my head back, giving him an exasperated look. "Really?"

"So, we'll deal with it. I'll make it my goal to get you to be as loud as you possibly can be, and we'll probably disturb Joey before Katie. If she happens to wake up at any point when we're having sex, loud or not, it'll be fine. We'll calm her down and make jokes about how babies are the biggest cockblocks in the world, and when she settles down again, we'll get back down to business."

"I'm not there yet," I tell him, but he squeezes me gently.

"I know. That's another reason we're doing this one step at a time. Maybe it's a guy thing, but I never thought about sex with a baby in the house being an issue, especially because Joey has always been Joey and the amount of women he brings home is staggering. And _he_ comes from a big Catholic family, so I'm sure he's never thought it at all, either."

My shoulders droop and I nod, letting him guide me to the couch. "All right."

"Yeah?" I nod, and he smiles at me tentatively. "Okay. I promise we'll still take it slow." I nod again and lean against his chest.

"Sorry I'm such a spaz."

"Hey, this is new ground for both of us. There are bound to be some growing pains."

I listen to him breathe, my mind a swirling mess and truthfully still a little hazy from that intense orgasm I just had. "What about tomorrow?" I ask suddenly, feeling Chandler jerk next to me.

"Huh?" he asks, looking at me blearily, and I realize he must have drifted off.

"Tomorrow," I repeat. "Joey's working again. Who's watching Katie?"

"Oh," he answers with a yawn. "I'm going to work from home. There was too much going on at work for me to do it today, but if I'd had to, I would have taken a sick day for her."

"Huh. I didn't know you had that option."

"What—to work from home?" I nod and he shrugs, pulling me closer. "I can't do it all the time, but once in a while is okay."

"So…if you're going to be here, I can just come over after I get off work," I suggest. As irrationally freaked out as I am right now, I still want to be with him, and with Katie. It's just a matter of a few extra hours, but it's still time we can spend together.

He nods enthusiastically, sliding his hands down my arms until he can twine our fingers together. "Or…it means you can stay over, if you want."

"Chandler…"

"What? What is so wrong about wanting you to be here when I wake up?" He sounds exasperated again, and I have the feeling I'm pushing my limits tonight.

"Nothing, I just don't know that it's a good idea. It'll confuse Katie."

"It'll confuse Katie, or it'll confuse Monica?" I close my eyes, my head dropping in shame, and he sighs into my ear. "I'm sorry. That was out of line."

"No, it wasn't," I whisper, squeezing his hands. "I _am_ confused—about a lot of things, to be honest. A few hours to myself might not be the worst thing."

For a while, he doesn't move or speak, and I wonder if he's fallen asleep again. Finally, though, he kisses the side of my head and stands up, holding out his hands for me. He helps me pull on my jeans and find my shoes. My bra dangles off one of his fingers as he smiles, but I just grab it and shove it into my bag. Suddenly, I'm bashful. Apparently.

He walks me to the door, taking my face in his hands suddenly. He kisses me deeply, and I clutch his elbows to keep myself upright. "I can't tell you how much tonight meant to me," he murmurs. "I know our emotions are all at the surface right now, but…thank you. It was great. _You're_ great. I think that might have been the best sex I've ever had."

I can't help but giggle a little, pressing another kiss to his lips. "Oh, just wait." I hope like hell I can live up to that promise.

I feel him stiffen against my stomach once more and he groans, bending at the waist just a little. "Jesus, you're killing me."

"Hey, I offered to…give you a hand just a little while ago." He groans, though this time at my bad pun, and I grin, running my hands down his sides. I slide my hands across his cute little ass, squeezing gently for just a moment. "Thank you for being so great about, well, just everything. You don't have to be so understanding but—"

He cuts me off with a quick kiss. "If it's not easy, it's not worth it," he reminds me. "And you're _so_ worth it, Monica. Fighting with you is so much better than anything I could do with anyone else." My heart flutters and I squeeze him tight for a moment. "You okay getting home?"

I nod, clutching at his shirt before I let go, taking a step away. "Yeah. It's not that late." It's not even eleven, actually—the city is still wide awake. I dig through my bag and find my phone, making sure everything's in working order. "I'll let you know when I get there."

"Okay." He pulls the door open for me, grabbing my arm before I get very far. "For what it's worth, I think she's more confused that you're not here in the morning."

"What?"

"Katie. She sees you all evening, you feed her, you bathe her and rock her to sleep. Don't you think she's probably a little confused as to why you're not here when she cries during the night, or why you're not here to smile at her when she first wakes up?"

My heart clenches because I'd honestly never thought of that before. "Maybe…maybe I shouldn't spend so much time with her—"

"Monica, that is so _not_ what I'm saying, and the last thing I want is to spend less time with you. I'm just saying that she loves you. You're a part of her life now." He gives me a half smile, reaching out to stroke my cheek. "You're a part of _our_ life now, and neither of us are ever opposed to spending more time with you." He leans in and gives me another kiss. "Goodnight, Mon."

The door closes behind me and I feel tears fill my eyes. Of all the things to be arguing over, it shouldn't our sleeping arrangements. I swipe the tears away angrily and head down the stairs.

Am I doing more harm than good right now? Am I hurting Katie by _not_ being there all the time? She can't possibly be that attached to me, though, not yet. Sure, I know she likes me, and God knows that I love her more with every moment that passes. If I start spending the night and things go south for me and Chandler, wouldn't that be worse for Katie? I don't want her to get used to seeing me all the time just to wind up disappearing. I know that he and I are in a good place, despite our squabbling earlier, and he wouldn't have introduced me to his baby if he didn't think things were going well and that I might be around for a while.

Maybe I'm putting way too much thought into this. Besides, even though she doesn't see me every morning doesn't mean she wouldn't still be confused by my absence every night, because I do see her _every night_. But maybe she just thinks of me like a babysitter, or like Joey. She loves him, too, and would probably be really lost without him.

I get down to the lobby of Chandler's building and take a few deep, calming breaths before stepping out into the cool spring night.

* * *

*A/N…I had no idea this chapter was this long. I would break it up, but I don't think there's actually a stopping point. I guess some bits are longer than others, and that's just the way of the world.

I'm still trying to uphold my deal to only post when I've written something substantial, and I've done that (I didn't have time for almost a week, but I suppose that's beside the point). What I've written reads like the end of the story, but it's not. I don't know if I'll remember to tell you that when that part comes around, though. I don't suppose it matters now, either, but there you have it.


	14. Chapter 14

_*The music in his laughter had a way of rounding off the missing notes in her soul.*_

* * *

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, _thank you_ for coming to this thing with me."

"It's not a big deal."

I glance at Chandler out of the corner of my eye before turning my attention back to the winding streets. "It is to me," I answer, gripping the steering wheel hard enough to turn my knuckles white.

He puts his hand on my knee and I feel myself calm instantly, at least marginally. "Shouldn't I be the nervous one in this situation? I am meeting your parents for the first time, after all."

My insides knot up at the mention. "I know. It's been a while since I brought a boyfriend out to meet them, and never one with a child, so it's anyone's guess as to how they'll react."

He squeezes my leg. "That's so comforting."

"Sorry," I answer, giving him a rueful look before I go back to the unfamiliar streets.

"It's their anniversary party—how bad could it possibly be?"

"The fact that you can ask me that proves just how little you know about Judy Geller." I glance in the rearview mirror and smile at Katie, whose face is reflected back to me in the little mirror attached to her carseat. "I can't believe I'm subjecting your baby to this."

"Okay, Monica, what's the deal? You haven't told me a whole lot about your parents, but you've dreading this thing since you mentioned it to me."

"Oh, I've been dreading it longer than that."

"So…why are you going to it?"

I shrug, squinting at the street signs. "It's their thirtieth wedding anniversary."

"Okay, fair enough." When I remain silent, he finally speaks again. "So…why are you dreading this so much?"

"Because my mom hates me."

"She doesn't hate you," he answers matter-of-factly, so I shrug again.

"Fine. Maybe she doesn't hate me, but she sure as hell doesn't like me a lot. My brother can do no wrong and _I'm_ a perpetual screw-up. Granted, I have my moments, but I know a lot of those moments happen when I'm around my mother. She gets me so worked up and bent out of shape that I end up sabotaging myself. She's just so critical and…and…and…mean and it's been like that my whole life." I pull up to a stop light and feel Chandler's arm slide around my shoulders, pulling me in for a quick kiss.

"What could she possibly criticize you for?" he breathes, nuzzling my cheek while I attempt to keep an eye on the light.

"Only everything. My hair—it's usually either too long or too short—the way I dress, because it's either too slutty or too conservative, my job—'oh, so you're not good enough to work the dinner shift even after being there more than three years?'—and just a million different things that don't seem like much, but when you add it all up, it takes its toll, _especially_ when it comes from your mother and even more so when she sings your brother's praises in the same breath." A horn honks behind me and I start moving again, keeping an eye on the street signs.

Chandler squeezes my shoulder sympathetically. "Sounds like you had a lot of fun growing up."

"Oh, it was a blast. Family functions continue to be the highlight of my life. Lately, my mother has been giving me endless amounts of flack about being almost thirty and still single."

He pauses for a while, remaining silent, so I glance at Katie again. She looks a little sleepy from the car ride but still has her eyes mostly open. "How are you almost thirty? You _just_ turned twenty-eight."

"Chandler, I've been 'almost thirty' since I was about twenty years old. My mother has these insane ideas about women finding husbands and settling down early and cranking out a bunch of kids. Not that I wouldn't have at that age if I'd found the right guy, but I didn't want to settle for someone to shut my mother up, you know? So now, I'm practically a spinster."

"Hottest spinster I've ever seen," he tells me, squeezing my thigh this time.

I can't fight the grin that spreads across my face. "Thank you. Anyway, it didn't help that my brother got married by twenty-two and that he's managed to give her a grandchild. He's definitely winning, at least as far as she's concerned."

"Yeah, but isn't he divorced?"

"But clearly not his fault," I answer, pausing for a moment. "Though actually, it really wasn't his fault. I don't think I ever told you this, but his ex-wife is a lesbian."

"No shit?"

"I shit you not. They met in college, got married, and a few years later…lesbian. Want to hear something interesting though?"

"Always."

"My nephew was conceived after all that."

I glance over to gauge his reaction, and he looks completely baffled. "How's that now?"

I giggle, finally coming across the street name I need. "I don't know all the details, not that I want a lot of them. But Carol—his ex—told me that at some point after the divorce they got drunk and…poof. I don't think her girlfriend was too happy about it at the time, but they take good care of Ben, so they've managed to work it out. And this way, they didn't have to go through all the IVF stuff to have a kid—all it took was a bottle of vodka, which is _much_ cheaper than artificial insemination."

"I'll say," he agrees, looking over his shoulder at Katie, who makes a happy noise at the sight of him. "Can I also point out that you're hardly single?"

I bite my lip as I smile again—logically, I know that he's my boyfriend and I'm part of a couple, but it still makes me happy to hear him say it. "True, but that's still a fairly recent event in my life, and my parents didn't know you existed until about a month ago."

"You mean even after Ross walked in on me 'mauling' you on the couch? He didn't tell them?"

"Nah, that's not really his style. Well, we have moments where we become completely childish and start blabbing all the secrets that we've kept over the years, but I _am_ an adult, and I can make out with my boyfriend on my couch in _my_ apartment."

I pull into the parking lot of the country club and find a spot, though when I turn off the car I make no move to get out. The car is quiet except for Katie softly babbling to herself in the back.

"So what _do_ they know about me?"

"Not much. When I finally asked my mom a few weeks ago if I could bring a date, I knew I'd be grilled about you, so I tried to keep it vague."

"Ashamed of me?" he asks and I quirk my eyebrow at him, his mock-wounded expression quite pitiful.

"Obviously. No, I just thought it might be easier if I could face her with you by my side. I did tell her that we've been together for a few months and that you have a daughter. I think that part threw her for a loop. I wouldn't be surprised if she makes cracks about me being so desperate for a family that I'm willing to weasel into someone else's." My heart twists painfully at the thought, mostly because it sounds like the sort of thing she'd say. My mother has a tendency to be cruel, especially when she's not even trying.

Of course, those thoughts just lead me back to the fight I had with Rachel more than a month ago. I don't know if we've really recovered from it, either. I've hardly been home since then—spending more and more time with Chandler and Katie, and then avoiding the apartment so I don't have to deal with her. Fortunately, she and Ross are "on again," so she isn't home a lot lately, either. I know she's sorry for the comment she made, but I can't deny that it still hurts that she would ever think that about me.

"Monica." I turn to look at Chandler and he unbuckles his seat belt, scooting closer to me. "We're just two people getting to know each other, and one of us happens to have a child. That's one of the things that make it interesting. _I_ don't think you're desperate for anything…well, maybe once in a while, when you're moaning my name." I laugh a little, averting my eyes. Those are indeed desperate moments. "Remember—that little girl back there adores you. _She_ thinks you're pretty amazing, and when it comes down to it, isn't her opinion the one that counts?"

I take Chandler's face in my hands, giving him a kiss. "You're right. Katie is who matters most."

"And that's just how she wants it."

"Thank you for coming with me," I tell him again, pulling him into a hug. "This is going to be so much easier with you here."

He kisses my shoulder, sighing contentedly. "I'm happy to be here. Plus, you know, if things start to go south, we have Katie we can use as an excuse to leave."

"I would definitely be okay with using your child in this situation. And thanks for volunteering your car for the night, by the way. I didn't even know you had one."

"I got it after Katie came along. I figured better safe than sorry. Obviously, it's in a garage most of the time, but I just wanted to have it and not need it instead of need it and not have it."

"Works for me. Good for a quick getaway." I reach for the door handle and he puts his hand on my leg, stopping me.

"I'll get it."

"Chandler, I can get my own door."

"Let me be a gentleman once in a while," he counters, so I wait while he makes his way around the car, and I can't help but grin from ear to ear as he opens my door and holds out his hand for me. I grab the keys and my bag and put my hand in his, the jolt that hit me the first time we touched running through my body again. This man is incredible. He helps me out and quickly wraps his arms around my waist, pinning me to the side of the car.

"This isn't very gentleman-like," I whisper, my breathing growing rapid.

"If you start to feel… _desperate_ tonight, you'll let me know, won't you?" Without waiting for an answer, he presses his lips to mine. I grab the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer to me.

"I might be appreciatively desperate," I tell him, and he wraps his arms around me tighter, pulling me closer to him, and I feel him stirring against my thigh. "Down boy." He chuckles, shifting his hips away from mine a little, thought he doesn't stop kissing me. Finally, I give him a gentle shove. "Go get your daughter."

He clears his throat and wipes his lips as he goes back to the other side of the car. I dab at the edge of my mouth, making sure to clean up any lipstick smears, and I can't help but marvel at how patient he's being.

That's probably not being fair to him, though. He's not a stereotype. I know that sex isn't the only thing he thinks of, and since we started finding other ways to…release tension, we've both been a bit more relaxed. Groping each other like teenagers on his couch for last month or so has been a hell of a lot of fun, and he's definitely the first guy I've done this sort of thing with. Usually, I just jump into sex—from the sound of it, that was pretty much Chandler's mindset, too. But after we started doing all this, I remembered reading articles back in high school and college about getting to know a new sex partner. Granted, most of what I read pertained to losing one's virginity, but I think the ideology is the same—get to know this person, what turns him on, what he likes, doesn't like, and let him do the same for you for as long as it takes. That way, you'll be completely relaxed and at ease, making the whole event a lot more enjoyable for both. I don't know how many high school and college age kids have the patience for it, or the understanding of different types of sex—I suppose those articles were probably being excessively optimistic—but it seems to be working quite well for the two of us, and having Chandler bring me to orgasm using nothing but his hands has been a phenomenal experience, and just a hell of a good time.

"You ready?"

I snap out of my reverie to see Chandler holding his arm out for me, waiting patiently. I grab the diaper bag off his shoulder and lean around him to see Katie. "Hi, sweetheart." She smiles at me, the bud of another shiny little tooth poking out of her gum. "Kiss?" I ask, puckering my lips toward her. Cautiously, she leans forward a little, still not really sure what I mean when I ask her for that. It's something we're working on, though. The closest I've gotten so far is her closed mouth pressed against a random spot on my face—usually, she comes at me open-mouthed and drooling. Charming in its own way, I suppose. She's getting the hang of hugging, even if she doesn't really know the word yet. She's a smart little kid, though I might be biased.

I give her a big kiss, making her laugh, and link my arm through Chandler's. "You look hot tonight," I tell him as we head to the main entrance of the club, and his chest actually puffs out a little. It's been a while since we dressed up on a date—not since at some point in our first month together, actually. Now I don't feel nearly as self-conscious about wearing certain types of clothes around him, especially something revealing, though being mostly naked around someone tends to make you a bit more comfortable. Plus, watching his mouth fall open as he damn near drools over my naked chest is a big ego boost.

Not that I'm wearing anything particularly revealing at the moment—the last thing I need is to give my mother more ammunition. Still, it's a nice change to be comfortable dressing up with Chandler instead of feeling anxious and insecure, like when we first started going out.

"You look gorgeous," he says suddenly, and I squeeze his arm in return. It doesn't even matter whether or not I believe it at the moment—he does. That's what counts.

"Not as gorgeous as her majesty," I answer, reaching over to tickle Katie's side. She giggles and scrunches up, grabbing the hem of her dress and sticking it in her mouth. "Thank you for letting me play dress up with her."

He shrugs, sliding his arm out of mine to grab the door for me. "As long as you're okay with spending a ridiculous amount of money on a dress that she will have probably grown out of by the time we leave tonight, you can buy her whatever you want."

"Aren't babies meant to be spoiled?"

"Yeah, it's kind of hard not to. I want to give her everything whether she needs it or not."

I take his arm again as we make our way down the hall to the event room. "Anyway, it's a party dress—she doesn't have that many events in her life at the moment. I don't mind this being a one-time outfit."

He scoffs in mock-indignation. "Shows what you know. Miss Katie has a _very_ active social calendar. She's booked solid through the rest of the year; nothing but black-tie events as far as the eye can see."

"Oh, of course. Silly me for underestimating her demand." We walk up to the room's double doors, music muffled but still audible, and I let out a deep breath.

"I'm right here with you," he reminds me, untangling our arms to pull me in close. "It'll be fun."

I roll my eyes as I stand on tiptoe, sliding my hands around the back of his neck and pulling his head down to mine. "Kiss me," I whisper.

"As you wish," he answers, pressing his lips to mine.

I feel Katie grab my hair, but softly for once, just gently plucking at it as if it's the most fascinating thing in the world, and an incredible wave of happiness floats over me. This man, this little girl…they're where I want to be.

* * *

*A/N…first, there's more to this chapter, but it was hella long, and it works just as well as two chapters. Really, it's two separate parts anyway, I just wasn't so good at splitting this up while writing.

Aaaaaaaand…I know you guys are getting antsy, but I ask for patience. I know this is a little different than usual, and I know you guys are ready for the action, and it'll get there, but this is sort of experimental writing. I know that in most TV shows and movies, people tend to jump into bed quickly, but that's because it sells. People want it, and they know it'll draw a crowd. I'm trying to get parts of this closer to real life, though, because real life is terribly interesting. IRL, people wait to have sex, at least sometimes. And their insecurities run rampant—but this one's about finding the one that'll stick around through all that tough stuff, the one that'll see the worst you have to offer and still love you. Let's be honest; if you have a character like Monica and Friends had wanted to delve into darker issues, the girl would have been a genuine wreck. Body issues, control issues, inferiority complex…that does things to your head.

I do appreciate all of you sticking with this and indulging my creative whims, though, because it does mean a lot to me. And I'm _fairly_ certain that the payoff will be worthwhile. Just keep on keeping on, if you'd be so kind.


	15. Chapter 15

_*He's more myself than I am. Whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same.*_

* * *

"Geez, Mon, get a room."

I break away from Chandler at the sound of Ross's voice, turning to see him walking down the hall with Rachel. "Hi, guys."

"Hi, stranger," Rachel says tentatively, so I reach out and pull her into my arms.

"Hey, Rache." I give her another squeeze before giving my brother a hug, then step back to Chandler's side. "Ross, you remember Chandler, don't you?"

My brother attempts to give my boyfriend a stern look, and to his credit, Chandler does his best to look chastised as he holds out his hand. "Good to see you again, Ross."

"Yeah, you, too, I guess."

"Ross," I groan. "Stop with the 'big brother' crap, would you? You're not impressing anyone, nor are you actually scaring him. You know, if you tried to get to know him, the two of you probably have a lot in common."

Ross sighs, looking a touch contrite. "You're right. Sorry, Chandler." He smiles at Katie, who suddenly looks bashful. "And who's this?"

I cringe, realizing that I never got around to mentioning any of this to Ross. In fairness, though, talking to my brother about my relationships isn't usually a top priority, but that would mean that Rachel hasn't said anything, either. Impressive.

"This is Katie," Chandler answers. "My daughter."

Ross's mouth flaps open, though I can't say that I blame him. My initial reaction was probably pretty similar. "You have a _daughter_?"

Chandler holds Katie out and away from him, staring at her quizzically for a few moments. "Yeah. Yeah, it would seem so."

Rachel actually snickers a little, and Ross gives her an exasperated look. "Did you know about this?"

Immediately, Rachel looks uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other, so I jump in to save her. "Ross, it wasn't her place to say anything, and now is really not the time to go into it all."

"We could…" Chandler looks at me questioningly for a moment, and inexplicably, I know what he's going to say, so I nod. "We could all have dinner some night. I could get to know all of you." I reach up and rub his back appreciatively.

"That would be great," Rachel answers for the two of them. Ross, for his part, still looks stunned but nods anyway. "Shall we get in there, then?"

Chandler smiles at me apologetically. "Actually, I think she needs to be changed." He pauses, wrinkling his nose. "No—she _definitely_ needs to be changed. I'm sorry. I'll meet up with you in a couple of minutes, all right?"

I lean over and give Katie a kiss, shuddering when the smell hits me. The little gremlin just smiles at me benevolently. "My parents are going to think I'm making you up," I tell him, leaning up to give him a quick kiss. "I'll see you soon. I'll be the one with the traumatized look on her face."

He smiles and waves Katie's hand for her before grabbing the diaper bag off my shoulder and trotting off in the opposite direction.

As the three of us walk through the doors, Ross pokes at me. "He has a kid?" he hisses.

I just bat his hand away. "So do you, Ross, so shut up."

"Yeah, but mine—"

"You don't know anything about Chandler or his daughter, so I'd advise you to keep quiet. I mean, Katie may not be the product of drunken fling with his gay ex-wife, but she's special in her own way."

Ross's eyes grow wide for a second before he chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender. "Touché." He moves ahead of us, leading the way to our parents, and Rachel cautiously slides her arm through mine.

"So, how is everything going with you two?"

"Me and Chandler? It's great."

She pauses, waiting for me to elaborate, but there's no time to get into everything right now.

"Well, have you slept with him yet?"

"Rachel! God, _that's_ the first question you ask?"

"So, that's a no."

I sigh impatiently and come to a halt, glancing around to make sure no relatives or family friends can overhear me. "We've done pretty much everything except that, all right? And it's _amazing_."

Her eyes grow wide as she smiles at me. "Really?"

I lean forward and whisper in her ear. "I've never come so hard in my entire life." That ought to shut her up.

She gawks at me for a minute so I grab her arm and start pulling her toward my parents, already in conversation with Ross. "I'm gonna need some follow up on that," she finally tells me, and I smirk at her over my shoulder.

"Monica!" My father pulls me into a giant bear hug, and I take a deep breath of his comfortable, reliable scent.

"Hi, Dad. Happy anniversary."

"Thanks, honey. Can you believe it? Thirty years."

"Harder to believe that it means my brother is almost thirty," I tease, looking over at Ross who only looks crestfallen for a few moments before my mother smoothes his hair back from his face.

"Here alone, I see," my father damn near yells. "Well, that's all right, sweetie. We love you just the way you are."

"No, Dad, I have a date tonight."

He looks over at Rachel, giving me a placating smile. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Monica's date."

"Dad!"

My mother finally looks over at me, acknowledging my presence. "Monica. You look lovely." I hate that she sounds so shocked.

"Hi, Mom. Happy anniversary." We hug each other awkwardly for a moment before she pulls back, looking at me.

"Did Rachel do your makeup or something?"

"Nope. Managed it on my own."

She eyes me suspiciously for a moment before her facial expression changes to one of amusement. "No _boyfriend_ , I see."

"Actually, he's in the bathroom," Ross says, and I smile at him gratefully. It's not often that he's even aware of the comments our parents make toward me, but it's nice to have him come to my defense on occasion.

"He had to change Katie's diaper," I add, and both of my parents whip their faces to me, stunned.

"Your boyfriend has a baby?" my mother gasps.

I look over at Ross and Rachel, confused. "Yeah. I _did_ tell you that he has a daughter, didn't I?"

"Well, yes, but I assumed you meant she was in elementary school or even a teenager. I had no idea that you meant she was a _baby_."

Rachel looks at me and shrugs; she's known almost as long as I have about the baby, and I guess it never occurred to me to specify. "Yes; Chandler has a ten-month-old daughter," I answer and crane my neck, hoping against hope to see him when, like an oasis in a desert, he appears. I grin as his eyes find mine, and he jostles a red-faced Katie as he navigates the crowd to greet us. "Mom, Dad, this is Chandler," I say as he walks up, extending his free hand to first my father, then my mother.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Geller, Mrs. Geller. I'm Chandler Bing."

They both look a little shell shocked, but they manage to greet him politely, smiling as their eyes land on Katie. "It's wonderful to meet you, Chandler," my mother finally says. I hold my breath, waiting for a comment about not actually expecting him to exist, but it never comes. "What an adorable little girl you have."

He grins broadly, jostling her again. Her lower lip pokes out and she sniffles, but other than that, she remains calm. "This is Katie. She's not so cute right now—apparently sitting in a dirty diaper is preferable to the abject _horror_ of being changed, but she'll be okay in a few minutes."

"Hi, Katie," my mother says to her as she leans in close, giving the baby's side a gentle tickle; Katie squirms away, her face still stormy, and suddenly sticks her arms out for me. My eyes grow wide as I look up at Chandler. He just shrugs, doing his best to hold onto his daughter who has suddenly decided she needs me. She _would_ do something like this for the first time in front of my parents. God knows what they'll think.

Still, when a baby reaches out for you, you hold her. I pull her into my arms and she immediately grabs onto my hair, tugging it thoughtfully. My father tries, leaning in just a little. "Nice to meet you, Katie."

"Katie," I say softly. "This is Jack and Judy. Can you say hi?"

She looks at my parents for a moment before turning her head, burying her face in the crook of my neck. Kids really _are_ good judges of character. I rub her back consolingly, gently swaying her from side to side.

"Sorry," Chandler says, reaching over to stroke Katie's head. "She's not used to being a car for that long, plus we're in a strange place with a lot of new people. She's probably just feeling a little out of sorts."

"Well, she's absolutely lovely," my mother says, looking positively enthralled with the baby.

"Yeah, she's all right," Chandler answers, sliding his arm around my waist. "So, thirty years? Congratulations; that's really amazing."

My parents beam at each other, and for a moment I catch a glimpse of who they used to be—two kids who fell in love and have managed to be together, truthfully, a lot longer than 30 years by this point. "Well, when you find the right person, you don't let her go," my dad answers, giving my mom a little nudge.

It's probably my imagination, but I could swear I feel Chandler squeeze my side just a bit.

"Who else would you find to wash your clothes and cook your food?" my mother answers, and I bite my lip as I realize what they're doing—they're flirting. Not with each other, but for Chandler. They're putting their best face forward so that he'll consider marrying their spinster daughter.

It's equal parts hilarious and ridiculous.

"Well, how about some drinks?" my father asks, looking at Chandler and my brother. "What do you say, fellas? Should we get something for the ladies?"

"I should probably go find my parents," Rachel answers. "They're here, aren't they?"

"I've only seen your mother so far, dear. Ross, why don't you go with her?"

Ross gives our mother a confused look as he follows Rachel back through the crowd, but I can't blame him. The woman _is_ acting very bizarre all of a sudden.

"Can I get you anything?" Chandler asks me softly, putting his hand on my shoulder.

Katie finally pulls her head out of my neck, looking around curiously. "No, that's all right. I'm driving and we have very precious cargo."

"I'll drive home."

"You don't mind?"

He shakes his head, leaning in to my ear for a second. "You'll probably need it more than I will, right?" I smile and he pulls back a little, his grin matching mine. "Anything?"

"Scotch, I guess."

"Okay. I'll be back in a few minutes." He leans down again, and I press the briefest of kisses to his lips, very aware of my parents looking on. He passes off the diaper bag and lets my father lead him across the room to the bar. I look down at Katie and she stretches a hand up to my mouth, trying to grab at my lip.

"What're you doing, silly?" I ask, grabbing her hand and kissing the palm of it. "You're such a silly goose, aren't you?" She lets out a happy little laugh, the crisis from early clearly in the past.

"You two seem to get along very well," my mother says, smiling when I look up at her.

"Well, we spend a lot of time together."

"You must; she didn't even flinch when her father left."

I pause and give the baby a surprised look; it must amuse Katie because she laughs again, kicking her feet against my side. I suppose I never even thought about it, but I guess she has been getting less fussy when Chandler leaves her with me. In retrospect, her tears do seem to dwindle faster each time I spend the day with her. She very possibly could have stopped crying all together without me realizing it. She certainly doesn't seem bothered by her father's absence. I'll have to remember to ask Joey if he's noticed that's not crying as much with him, too.

We're silent for a few moments, though my mother seems completely preoccupied with the baby. Katie appears to be warming up to my mother a bit, too, though she keeps her little hand tightly fisted on my dress, holding herself close to me. "So, I guess you have some questions."

My mother shrugs, surrendering her finger to Katie's teething mouth. "I really wasn't expecting her to be a baby."

"I guess I should have mentioned that, but I really didn't think about it. She's just Katie to me."

"Do you…have you met her mother?"

I shake my head, rubbing Katie's back. "No. Legally, she doesn't have a mother." At my mother's confused look, I shake my head again. "Long story, one we probably shouldn't get into tonight, but it's just Chandler and Katie."

"And you."

"Me sometimes," I agree.

"Are you living with him?"

"No." She gives me a disbelieving look and I sigh. "I'm not, Mom, I promise. If it gets to that point, I'll let you know."

"The same way you let me know you were seeing someone?"

"Wow. I didn't realize I had to tell you about all the intimate details of my life."

"I don't need to know everything that goes on in your life, Monica, but getting _some_ information once in a while would be nice."

It's a double-edged sword with this woman. I tell her what's going on in my life then she's critical and judgmental of my choices. I hold back information, and she's wounded because I don't keep her in the loop. There's no winning. "We've only been going out just over four months. When I told you about Chandler, we'd just hit three months, and I'd only met Katie the month before. I wanted to know if she would even be able to stand me before updating anyone on my status."

"Eee boo bah. Ah bah bah bah," Katie interjects, waving her arms.

"You always know just what to say, Katie-did," I tell her. "Hey, can you show Judy your funny face?" I stick my tongue between my lips and blow a gentle raspberry, only to be rewarded with my chin covered in baby spit a moment later. "It's the one thing she's _really_ good at imitating right now," I explain as I dig around in the diaper bag for a cloth.

My mother dabs at my face with a napkin and I freeze, waiting for her to finish. I don't know how to process this person she seems to be right now. "You look happy, Monica," she says simply, and I do my best not to grin too hard.

"I _am_ happy, Mom. Chandler's a great guy—I think you'll really like him. He's sweet and funny and a wonderful father. He loves Katie so much and would do anything to make her happy."

"And he obviously cares for you very much."

I feel my cheeks heat up, so I kiss the baby's head to hide my face. "You really think so?"

"He schlepped himself and his tiny daughter all the way out to Long Island for the anniversary party of people he's never met. I can't say that it's love, but it's definitely something."

I bounce Katie from side to side a little as I think about it, and she might not be wrong. He didn't have to come out here with me. He has so little time off work and even less time to spend with his daughter that he didn't have to do this with me. I know it's usually assumed that once you're a couple, you automatically do everything together, but that's just not true. I never assume that he'll just go along with what I'm doing, and I've never just told him that "we're doing such and such tonight." Maybe it all just feels too good to be true that I'm afraid of ruining it by being too demanding.

Still—my mother's right. He came all this way to support me. That says a lot about the sort of person he is.

"Can I hold her?"

I look down to Katie, bopping her gently on my hip. "I don't know. You'll have to ask her."

My mother smiles charmingly at the baby, holding out her hands. "Katie, may I hold you?"

She looks up at me, a confused expression on her face, so I give her a little squeeze. "It's up to you, sweetie. You can trust her, though."

My mother reaches out and gently tickles Katie's side, making her squirm, though a big smile lights up her face as she blows another raspberry. "Please, Katie? Can I hold you?"

Katie relaxes her grip on my dress, so I take that chance to tilt her toward my mother. She doesn't lean into it, but she doesn't fight it, either.

"Ohh," she croons as she pulls the baby into her arms. "That's right; come to Nana."

"Mom!" I look around to see if Chandler overheard that, but he's still at the bar with my father. "You can't call yourself 'Nana.'"

"Why on earth not?" she asks, completely distracted by the baby in her arms. Katie keeps her eyes on me, but her body relaxes into this new person worshipping her.

"Because you're not her grandmother," I hiss.

"You're practically her mother, so why can't I be her Nana?"

My mouth drops open in shock for a good ten seconds before I can begin to form a response. "No, I'm not."

"Tell that to Katie." Katie looks up at the sound of her name, and my mother gives her a look full of adoration. "Yeah. Is Monica your mommy? Is she, little cutie?"

"Oh, my God, Mom, you've got to stop that."

Naturally, my mother ignores me. "Look at the smile on her face when I ask her that."

"She's smiling because she likes the way you're talking to her, not because you're calling me 'Mommy.' She doesn't even know what a mommy is, but she _does_ know who Monica is, so there is that." Katie turns to me at the sound of my name and smiles, and my inside turns into a pile of goo. "And please don't let Chandler hear you calling me…the _M_ word."

"Why not?" she asks, looking genuinely curious for once. "Is he skittish about marriage or something?"

"I have no idea. We haven't talked about it. It's only been four months." It feels like I have to repeat that fact constantly. "I just don't want him to think that I go around telling people that she's my daughter. That's a little creepy, don't you think? So just…shush."

My mother rolls her eyes at me, turning her focus back to the baby. "You are just too precious for words, aren't you?"

I get the feeling that she'll call me Katie's mommy more than once this evening, but I have to admit that it's nice to see my mother so taken with the baby. I wasn't expecting that at all.

I have to admit…it gives me hope.

* * *

*A/N…I've been slacking. I know. I haven't been writing as much, so that equals no posting. I'm nearing the end of it and I'm having some trouble finding the stuff in the middle of the end (if that makes any sense). So…again, thanks for sticking with me while I try to work my way through this monster (two months is took me to write "You," and I'm still working on this one after six months…geez). I appreciate all of your thoughts and such, too—the reviews really do make my day.


	16. Chapter 16

_*I have a million things to talk to you about. All I want in this world is you. I want to see you and talk. I want the two of us to begin everything from the beginning.*_

* * *

Despite the fact that it's their anniversary party and they should be off mingling, my parents spend a good portion of the evening sitting with Ross, Rachel, me, and Chandler. My boyfriend has been extra charming, too, making my parents laugh and breaking any awkward silence that started to come over us.

Katie, naturally, has been Miss Popularity, being passed around from person to person until she started to get fussy. After she ate and we changed her into her jammies, she played what Chandler and I like to call the "now _you_ hold me game." That's where Katie reaches for someone, sits with them for a moment, then reaches for the next person, and so on until eternity. I'm pretty sure it's just another way for her to exercise her power over us.

My father has been just as enamored with Katie as my mother, bouncing her gently on his knee, and such a natural at all of it. I shouldn't be so surprised—it's not as if my father has ever been distant or cold. He's just a little absent-minded, so I always kind of figured that my mother did most of the child holding. I guess I was wrong.

The details of Katie's short life haven't been brought up tonight, fortunately. I know it's not something Chandler likes to talk about, nor does it seem to be the sort of topic of conversation for a night like this. Surprisingly, my parents seem okay with asking Chandler only general questions about his life, as well as the basics about Katie. I'm fairly certain my mother will have a million more questions and opinions for me a in few days, but for once, I don't know that I blame her. This is all kind of a big deal.

Katie whines suddenly, her face collapsing a little. "I know, sweetheart," Chandler says softly. "You've had a very big day and you're sleepy." She clumsily rubs her arm across her face, sniffling a little. "It's okay." He stands and gently bounces her back and forth, rubbing big circles on her back. "Sorry," he says to my parents. "It's—"

"It's late for her," my mother finishes, waving her hand to dismiss his apology. "I remember what that was like. Monica was very demanding at that age, too. If she'd been able to point to a clock and tap her foot impatiently, she would have."

"I was very serious about my bedtime," I confirm.

"So is this one," Chandler answers as he tries to soothe his cranky baby, but she doesn't seem interested in it. "C'mon, Katie-did. I know you're sleepy. It's all right—it happens." Her breath hitches and my heart breaks as I watch her face scrunch up, her distress clear.

"Awww." I look to the table, but I'm pretty sure they all said that. Everyone is looking at Katie with a mixture of adoration and sadness.

"Sure, when you're a baby it's cute, but when _I_ throw a hissy fit, I have issues," Chandler says softly to Katie. Her cries just get louder. "Monica, please help."

I freeze, my eyes probably growing to the size of our dinner plates. "Help with what?"

Katie's level of distress and volume are increasing rapidly, and Chandler's starting to look mortified, glancing around the room to see who'll be the first to give him the evil eye. "You know she likes to fall asleep with you," he answers. "Please."

I glance at the rest of the table; my mom gives me a curious look but I try to ignore her as I stand. Chandler deposits her into my arms and I immediately start to sway. Katie presses her face against my shoulder as she cries, the anguish she's experiencing as a ten-month-old evident in her little body. "It's okay, baby," I whisper, rubbing her back gently. "Monica's here. Monica's here."

Her breath hitches again, though her sob comes out weaker this time. "She has a real knack for this part," Chandler says, startling me out of my little trance. "She and Katie do this most nights. Heck, I don't even remember the last time I was the one to successfully get her to go to sleep. Usually, I do the bedtime story and Monica rocks her."

I give Chandler a look, hoping he'll stop—God knows what sort of horrible things my family is thinking about me and my relationship with this little girl. No one says anything, though all of them watch me while trying to pretend they're not watching me. I take a few steps away, humming to her absently—sometimes the vibrations in my chest help to calm her.

Katie's tiny fist grabs my dress and I feel her hiccup a couple of times; her sobs are already starting to fade. While I love that I can soothe her and I would hate for her to ever be in distress any longer than she has to be, part of me can't help but wish that tonight of all nights, she simply wanted her daddy.

"Told you," I hear Chandler tell my family. "It's pretty impressive."

Katie's head snaps up suddenly and she looks at me blearily. I stroke her hair gently, waiting to see what her next move will be. She studies me for a few moments before smacking her lips and putting her head on my chest, sighing. "Night night, Katie," I say quietly, still gently swaying her back and forth. "I love you."

I look over to the table, and they seem to be in conversation again, for the most part. Chandler watches the two of us, a soft smile on his face. He sighs and props his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand. I shrug as I feel my face heat up a little, the look he's giving me one I can't really pinpoint, and slowly pace back and forth, still humming occasionally. I feel her jolt awake a few more times, fighting it tonight, before her body finally relaxes. I can feel her back move as she breathes deeply, snoring from time to time. A tiny wet spot soaks through my dress as she drools in her sleep. I slow my steps down and Katie never stirs. Chandler looks up and springs out of his seat, holding out my chair for me as I ease into it carefully. He leans over and kisses the baby's head; her breathing never even changes.

"Thank you," he whispers to me. "She loves you so much. I don't know what we'd do without you." He kisses my forehead then straightens, keeping his arm around my shoulders. "We should probably get going soon." He looks at me for verification, and I try not to nod too enthusiastically.

"Have the two of you even danced yet?" my father asks suddenly, and for a moment I don't even know how to respond.

"Uhhh, well, no, but—"

"Dance," my mother insists. "Enjoy yourselves for a few minutes."

"But what about—"

"We'll watch the baby," she tells me, already holding out her arms. "Go be adults before you stuff yourselves back in a car and drive for an hour."

"I'm not much of a dancer," Chandler tells me. "But maybe a slow one?"

The idea is more than a little appealing. I nod and Chandler helps me stand, both of us working together to pass off the baby who, fortunately, never notices the shift. Sweetly, he holds his arm out to me and leads me to the edge of the dance floor though he pauses, the tempo probably too fast for him.

"We've never done this before," I tell him, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Katie's all right.

"What? Danced?" he asks, following my gaze. My mother looks completely content with the baby in her arms. My father keeps a hand on her back, Katie looking miniscule compared to him. "Your parents seem really taken with her." I nod, sighing heavily, and he looks at me in confusion. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He nudges me gently, waiting. "Chandler, my mom called herself 'Nana.'"

"Ooookay," he answers slowly, looking completely lost.

"Earlier, when she first met Katie, she told her to 'come to Nana.' I'm sorry—I don't know why she did that, and she doesn't see why—"

He bursts out laughing and I stop short, looking at him incredulously. "Relax, Monica, it's okay."

"How is _that_ okay? She's not Katie's Nana, so she shouldn't be calling herself that. It'll just be…"

"Confusing," he finishes for me. "Right, I get it. Mon, it's okay for little kids to call older people 'Grandma' and 'Grandpa,' at least it is for my kid."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. She knows Joey's parents as Gran and Grandpop. With all of the kids in that family, even if I wasn't okay with it, the only way to avoid it would be to not let her go over there." He turns and takes my hands, smiling at me. "I appreciate your concern—honestly, I do—and maybe your mom didn't mean it in a generic way—maybe she _did_ mean something more—but can't we just pretend for now that's all it is?"

I squeeze his hands and lean forward, resting my forehead on his chest. "Yes, please." I take a deep breath of Chandler's gentle, clean scent. "Hey; what did you and my dad talk about?"

"When?" he asks, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

"When we first got here. You guys were gone an awfully long time just getting a few drinks." He chuckles a little and I tilt my head back to look at him. "What?"

"He kind of grilled me."

I cringe and shudder at the same time. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry."

"Eh, it's okay."

"No, it's really not. It's the first time he met you. He shouldn't be asking you a million questions."

"Babe, he's your _father_. You show up at this event with a guy he's never met—that he didn't even know existed until a month ago—and the guy has a baby. I really think I'd be more surprised if he didn't ask me at least a few questions."

I make a face and look surreptitiously over to our table. Ross and Rachel have disappeared but my parents are still there, looking quite content to dote on a sleeping Katie. "What kind of questions?"

"The basics. He wanted to know what I do for a living, that sort of thing. He asked for my blood type, too, which I thought was kind of weird."

My eyes grow wide. "What?"

"Yeah. Then he said something about a complete medical workup, asked if there was any history of mental illness in my family, and he mentioned something about getting my social security number so he could run a background check."

I roll my eyes, shaking my head. "You're a funny guy, Chandler."

He smiles, bending down to kiss my cheek. "He just asked the basics. Oh—aside from one thing."

"I'm almost afraid to ask."

"He did want to know my intentions toward you."

I drop my face to his chest again, groaning. Like father, like son, apparently. "He didn't."

"Unfortunately, he did."

"I'm so sorry. I love my dad, and he's usually sort of off in his own world, but he has these moments where he's strangely protective of me."

"You know, as someone who has a daughter…I get it."

At that, I tilt my head up, feeling oddly intrigued. I know how much Chandler loves his daughter; I just never thought about him being one of those overprotective dads, questioning the motives of potential boyfriends.

It's kind of sexy on him, honestly.

"You do?"

"Oh, God, yeah. No one is ever going to be good enough for my little girl, and she's just going to have to accept that. So, I know that I'll never be good enough for you, particularly in your father's eyes."

"Oh, Chandler," I whisper. "You're plenty good enough for me. You're way too good for me—"

He presses a quick kiss to my lips, silencing me. "No, I'm not," he says softly. "But I promise that I'll keep trying." I shake my head at him and he clears his throat, suddenly looking embarrassed. "We'll go home soon, I promise."

"Thank you," I mumble, untangling our hands to slide my arms around his waist. "You've gone above and beyond tonight—I owe you big time."

"Hey." He takes my face in his hands and tilts my head until I can see him. "I'm not keeping score."

I feel my eyes grow watery, but my smile nearly splits my face in half. It occurs to me that I have no idea how he answered my father when he asked Chandler's intentions toward me, but I don't know if I even want to know at this point. Whatever answer he gave, I'm sure I'll find out at some point soon. "Let's dance."

"It's not slow," he protests, putting up a weak fight as I pull him to the dance floor.

"A slow one will turn up eventually. C'mon—this is _old_ people music. None of it is very fast, anyway."

"You're lucky I like _you_ more than I like your parents, otherwise I'd tell on you and you'd be in so much trouble right now."

One song fades into another as I pull him along, and I smile at him over my shoulder. "See? Isn't that better?"

He tugs at my hand, guiding me back to him with a gentle twirl before I settle into his arms. "That's about as fancy as I get."

"That's as fancy as I need," I reassure him, squeezing his hand, and he sways me gently.

"Hey," he says after a few moments of silence. "Since we've never danced before, does that make this 'our' song?"

I feel giddy at the thought of a having a "song" with him, but I pause, forcing myself to pay attention to the lyrics for a moment. "'Dance With Me'? I could be okay with that."

He ducks down, kissing me, and for a few moments I completely forget that my parents are probably watching, not to mention all of their closest friends in the world. None of it matters. Just him.

Just this.

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, the two of us behaving more as if we're at a middle school dance instead of an actual adult function, but I don't care.

"Dance with me," he whispers into my ear suddenly, his voice in singsong with the music. "I want to be your partner. Can't you see the music is just starting? Night is falling, and I am falling, dance with me."

This time, tears slip down my cheeks but I've never felt happier in my life. This man is too much, and so much more than I ever hoped to find, but for some reason…he's mine. I squeeze my arms around his waist, trying to convey just how much I feel for him, but I don't know that I could ever do it justice. I pull my head out of the crook of his neck and gaze up at him. He looks so content and peaceful. He runs his fingers softly through my hair and I stand up on tiptoe, wrapping both arms around his neck as I kiss him. I'll apologize to my parents later on—because I'm sure some friend of theirs will have something to say about this—but for now, I just kiss the man of my dreams.

* * *

*A/N…I wish I could tell you guys how long I've been trying to work this song into a fic. Possibly more years than is healthy (by the way, it's called Dance With Me by Orleans. It's a great song; listen to it and swoon). Imagine my joy when I realized that I'd be able to make it work here. I told you guys this was a dumping ground for all of my old ideas, and don't worry—there's many more old ideas to come.

I keep meaning to mention this movie to you guys. Some of you have probably seen it, but it's called The Mirror Has Two Faces, and there's this bit probably 20 minutes into the movie where Barbra Streisand's character talks about love. First, she mentions the sort of love where you don't have sex (I know—the horror, right?), where it's impossible to have sex, so you go for something more divine, but the end of the speech really wraps up what I think this story is about (and probably what all of our stories are about, really). I'm sure the scene is on YouTube somewhere.


	17. Chapter 17

_Happiness is holding someone in your arms and knowing you hold the whole world._

* * *

After some vague protests on his part, I managed to talk Chandler into parking his car back in the garage for the night instead of trying to find parking for it on the street after dropping me off at my place. He offered to let me drive it back to my apartment after dropping him and Katie off, but that seemed just as silly—there's never any parking where I live, either.

I helped him lug all of Katie's paraphernalia, which seemed to have expanded over the course of several hours, back to his apartment. Aside from waking up in the car for a little while on the way home, Katie has been pretty out of it. She's never been to anything like that, according to Chandler, so he's not surprised that it took a lot out of her.

"You really didn't have to do all this, you know," he tells me, his voice hushed in the dark, quiet apartment.

"You were never going to find parking on the street," I answer. "And getting all of this stuff up here on your own would have been a nightmare, plus you would have had to drag Katie with you every trip. It took the two of us just to get everything downstairs, remember?"

"Yeah, but now you're going to have walk home in the middle of the night again. You know how that thrills me, right?"

"I'm a big girl, Chandler." I grab the baby carrier out of his hands and put it on the table, unbuckling about fifty different straps before I can pop open Katie's pajamas and check her diaper. "You know I'll let you know the moment I'm safe and sound."

"I know that. That's not the part I worry about. I worry about the whole woman-walking-alone-in-the-dark-and-entitled-assholes-who-think-they-can-do-whatever-they-want part."

I pull Katie out of her carrier and she melts against me, one hand finding its way to my hair. For whatever reason, she seems to find that comforting and unless she's awake, she never really pulls at it. She just holds it like a security blanket. "I look pretty menacing when I leave here, you know."

He laughs quietly, stroking my cheek gently. "I'll just bet." He searches my face for a while, though I'm not quite sure what he's looking for, before pulling me into his arms. Katie makes a little noise then just burrows into me deeper. "I'm sorry I put you on the spot earlier," he whispers.

"What are you talking about?"

"At the party, when I asked for your help with the baby in front of your parents like that. You know I tend to get a little frantic when she starts to meltdown in public, and then it's hard for me to get her to calm down because _I'm_ not calm…and you're just so good with her, you know?"

"Chandler…"

"No, really. She adores you, and I love that you care for my little girl so much. There's something about you—to Katie, I mean—that I just don't have, and that she responds to. It's pretty incredible."

"It's the boobs," I whisper, feeling oddly choked up. "She's likes the boobs."

"Yeah, probably, but I don't think that's all of it. She connects with you. She knows you're someone who'll take care of her."

"You're making me blush," I tell him, and though it comes out a touch sarcastic, it's the absolute truth.

He kisses the top of my head and holds me for a while, the sounds of the city below us the only noise in the apartment—noises that are somehow soothing, like an urban lullaby that calms so many with its familiar refrain.

"C'mon. Let's put her to bed," he finally says, dropping his arms.

"Hang on." Carefully, I step out of my shoes, flexing my toes as they hit the cool linoleum—heels may be great for posture and making legs look longer, but they're murder on the feet. Chandler puts his arm around my shoulders and guides me to Katie's room, leaning down and lovingly kissing her head.

"Good night, Katie," he whispers, rubbing her back. "I love you."

"I love you, too," I tell her as I carefully ease her into her crib. She sighs as she settles against her mattress, her arms falling open, and I have a moment where just looking at her actually hurts. "God, Chandler, she's so beautiful. How do you stand it?"

"Which part?" he asks, his hand sliding down my back to my waist.

"Knowing that you've created something so completely perfect, and knowing that the world is such a horrible place but you can't protect her forever?"

"Most of the time I _can't_ stand it—it's really too much to think about, especially that last part. But you're right. She is beyond perfect, and I have no idea how I managed to play a hand in something like that. She got the very best of me, better parts than I knew I possessed." I glance up at his face, but his eyes are on Katie, the expression on his face pure, unadulterated love. "She's better than I deserve," he whispers, "and I just hope that I can be enough for her."

"She loves you, Chandler. You're her daddy, and that _is_ enough."

He smiles at me, his eyes bright in the dim light streaming in from around the curtains. "I love her so much it hurts, you know?"

I nod, feeling a little misty myself. "I know." I slide a hand up his chest, resting it over his heart. "I know."

He covers my hand with his, studying me for a moment. "You really do, don't you?" Without waiting for an answer, he bends down and kisses me softly, pulling back just a moment later. With a sigh, he twines his fingers with mine and leads me out of the baby's room, pulling the door mostly shut behind us. He starts to walk toward the living room but I come to a complete stop, suddenly refusing to follow.

He turns and looks at me and I give his hand a little squeeze, meeting his gaze. A second later, he comes rushing at me, our arms wrapping around each other as our lips collide. He catches me a moment before my back slams against the wall outside of Katie's room. I stand up on tiptoes, trying to get closer to him and he tightens his arms around my waist. He pulls back for a second, gasping, but I grab the back of his head, pulling him back to me.

"I need you," I whisper, and he moans into my mouth.

He nods and takes a few steps backward, steering us toward the living room again. I drop my feet to the ground and manage to duck out of his arms. He stares at me, panting, his hair adorably mussed from my roaming hands. "What's wrong?"

I reach out and take his hand, waiting. He looks over my shoulder, his eyes growing wide as he realizes I'm standing in front of his bedroom. I give a tiny nod and he moves toward me again, slower this time, kissing me carefully as if he's afraid that I'll change my mind.

This time, I take a few steps backward, pulling us into his room, and I feel a little tingle of nervousness. I've spent almost no time in here, and it feels a bit like I'm invading his personal space.

My knees hit the back of his bed and I collapse onto it, my chest heaving as I lean back to look at Chandler. He swallows heavily, watching me for a moment, before he climbs onto the bed next to me. He gathers me into his arms, kissing me for all he's worth. I shift onto my knees, pulling him closer, not surprised to feel him pushing into my stomach. He clutches at me, grabbing fistfuls of my dress as we kiss, grabbing so hard that it feels like he's going to tear right through the material, but I don't care.

I yank his shirt out from where it's tucked in, my fingers immediately going to the buttons. I want to do something stupid like grab the collar and pull, sending the buttons flying, but I get the feeling that maneuver is a lot easier on TV than in real life. Instead, with shaking hands I carefully open one at a time.

He pulls away from me for a moment, breathing heavily, and I see his own hands shake as he goes to his cuffs, undoing those buttons with much struggling. I finally push the shirt off his shoulders, and even though I've seen his bare chest dozens of times by now, this seems different.

He wraps his arms around me again, his lips finding mine as he carefully lowers me to the bed. His body covers mine, something else I've experienced repeatedly in the last few months, but this time it feels better. His bed is so comfortable that I don't ever want to go back to the couch.

"Monica, are you sure?" he gasps, pulling back to look into my eyes.

"God, yes," I moan, bracing my feet on either side of his knees, feeling him sink into me.

"Okay." His voice is barely a whisper. He kisses my neck, wasting no time in making his way down between my breasts. His teeth scrape at me gently, causing tremors to run through my body.

He pulls himself up to his knees, bracing his hands next to me on the bed, and starts attacking me through my dress, biting and suckling at my breasts through the thin fabric. I move a hand to my zipper and he grabs my wrist. I blink at him, confused. "What?"

"I've got this," he answers. His mouth moves down my stomach, still kissing me through the dress. The material suddenly feels hot and confining, but I wait. The anticipation of it all is greater than my minor discomfort at being fully clothed.

He slides off the edge of the bed, holding one of my feet against his chest. I prop myself up on my elbows to watch him. His fingers run up and down my leg, digging into my calf muscles on occasion and causing little moans to fall out of my mouth.

"What're you doing to me?" I whisper, and I watch his eyes twinkle.

"I told you; I'm _great_ at foreplay."

I laugh a little, letting my body fall back against the bed. I feel his hands slide up my legs and disappear under the edge of my dress. His fingers dip beneath the sides of my panties, and I can feel the tension in his hands as he struggles for control. He grabs my hips suddenly and pulls me to the edge of bed, my dress riding up to my ribcage. He drops to his knees in front of me and suddenly presses his lips to my inner thigh. His touch is so electrifying that I nearly jerk out of his hands completely. He tightens his grip on me in response and pulls one of my legs over his shoulders, bending in a way I didn't know he could to kiss the back of my thigh.

"Ohhhh." I wasn't expecting that. Nor did I expect it to feel so amazing.

I swear I can feel him smile as he drags my other leg over his free shoulder, moving to give that thigh the same treatment. He's so close right now I think my head is going to explode. I reach above my head and grab at his blanket, my back arching off the bed. I feel one of his hands slide up my stomach, stroking the skin softly, before he gently palms my breast.

"Jesus," I moan. "Have you always had this many hands?"

I feel him chuckle against my skin and he lifts his head. "I'm part octopus—didn't I tell you that?" His other arm wraps itself around my leg, reaching over to toy with my bellybutton.

"God." I squirm, pushing myself closer to him, and I feel his mouth on my thigh again, his teeth nipping at me. His fingers leave my navel and slide gently across my hips until—with the lightest of touches possible—he strokes me.

I nearly crush his head when my legs try to close around him in an effort to keep him in place. It's not as if he hasn't touched me before, but that doesn't mean each time isn't better than the last.

"Please take my dress off," I whimper. I know I can do it on my own but he's already asked to do it himself and quite honestly, I really like it when he undresses me.

He disappears suddenly, standing up, and I swallow as he holds his hands out to me. He pulls me up, my dress immediately falling back into place, and he kisses me. It's long and slow—not at all as frantic as I feel right now.

"Side zipper?" he mumbles. I nod and he gropes me for a few moments before he finds it, dragging it centimeter by agonizing centimeter down my side. Instead of immediately ripping the dress off, though, he slides his hand beneath it, pressing against the small of my back.

"Chandler," I whine. When he doesn't respond, I grab his hips and pull him against me, both of us moaning at the contact. "C'mon."

He manages to pull his hips away, so I reach in between us and tug at his belt buckle, pulling it open in a matter of moments. He makes a noise against my mouth as he kisses me, his fingers trail up my spine, but he makes no other move. I pop open the button of his pants…still nothing. Carefully, almost delicately, I run the tip of my finger across his erection. He hisses and his hips jerk. I can feel his body shaking as he clutches at me. I grab the tab of the zipper and pull, not using as much care as even just a moment before. He groans as I shove his pants down his hips. I step back as he kicks them away and raise my hands.

Finally, he grabs the hem of my dress and pulls it over my head in one smooth motion. He drops it somewhere behind him and I feel my pulse quicken. Again, we've been in our underwear in front of each other before, but it's never been like this.

"God, Monica," he finally says, actually licking his lips as he takes me in. He reaches for me and we crash together again. I feel him fumble with my bra for a few moments it comes loose and I let go of him long enough to fling it across the room.

His hands move up my sides, stroking my breasts, and I want to weep. "Oh, God."

"You know," he tells me between kisses, "our clothes are going to be hanging in the strangest places in the morning."

I smile against his mouth and wrap my arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe to reach him better. "Can't wait to see where my bra landed."

"Can I try something?" he breathes, and before I can nod he grabs the backs of my thighs, lifting me up. My legs automatically wrap around his waist and he groans. "Yeah; just as hot as I imagined it would be." I feel his entire body vibrating and I'm unceremoniously dumped onto the bed.

"Too much?" I ask him, giggling as he bends over, putting his hands on his knees as he breathes heavily.

He looks up at me and cocks an eyebrow. Without a word he grabs the backs of my knees and pulls me to the edge of the bed once more. Then he slides his hands up my legs, hooking his fingers in the edge of my panties. He tilts his head and I nod, my heart pounding faster. This is definitely something we haven't done yet. For all the fooling around we've been doing the last month or so, for as much mutual skin we've explored and as many orgasms we've coaxed from each other, we've yet to see each other completely naked. It's almost become a game by this point, and in a way it's given us something to look forward to. But with just a couple of scraps of material, or rather the removal of said scraps, everything will change.

Before I can over think it much more, I feel my underwear disappear. The cool air of the room hits my overheated flesh and I actually tremble, fighting my hardest to not close my knees self-consciously. I look down at him and he's staring at me in awe. "Oh, God, Monica." He drops to his knees and I can see his chest heave. "Oh, shit." He leans forward and presses a kiss to my knee and I think I'm going to implode.

"Come here," I whisper, needing him with a force I've never known before.

He nods, sitting back on his haunches as he stares at me—if it were anyone else, I'd feel wildly uncomfortable with the attention. But…it's Chandler. I _want_ him to look at me this way. I want him to want me.

"Hang on," he croaks out, crawling on his hands and knees over to the door and pushing it shut. As he makes his way back to me, I almost can't recognize him. His eyes have gone almost black, and the naked desire on his face changes him. I've never felt so wanted in my entire life.

His face disappears and I feel him trailing kisses up my legs a moment later. Why is _that_ of all things so erotic? Why are my toes curling this way?

I feel him looking at me and open my eyes. He's tracing patterns on the tops of my thighs, the designs growing bigger with each passing moment. I watch him lean forward and, surprisingly, he stretches up to kiss my stomach. I slide my hands through his hair as he grips my sides, his entire body shaking again.

"I don't know how much longer I can control myself," he whispers, and he almost sounds sad. I sit up and pull him with me, wrapping arms around him. He pillows his head against my chest, breathing deeply. We hold each other for a few minutes and I can feel myself start to calm down a bit, drifting back from the edge. It seems that all the time we've spent fooling around has done nothing to curb our desire for each other.

I take his face in my hands and kiss him. He pulls me forward and I can feel him pressing against me insistently, making me whimper. We're not doing anything yet and it still feels amazing.

Slowly, I pull back from him and brace myself on my elbows, waiting. He studies me intently for a few more moments before he leans forward and presses hard kisses to anywhere he can reach, moving down my body. He scrapes his teeth across my hip and I feel my breath hitch.

He moves lower, tracing a line from my bellybutton down, stopping before he gets too close. I wiggle my hips, starting to feel desperate.

He sinks down again and I feel him kissing my inner thigh, and I almost sigh with relief. Then he switches to the other thigh.

"Chandler," I moan, reaching out to run my fingers through his hair. He moves just a little and all of a sudden his mouth is on me. I nearly rip his hair out by the roots as my hips thrust up, my eyes rolling back in my head. "AHHHH!"

He looks up, startled, his hair already standing in a million directions. "Are you okay?"

I laugh a little, partially because I can't help it but most because of the ridiculousness of the moment. "Don't stop," I breathe as my arms give out and I fall back against the bed. A moment later his tongue flicks out, just barely grazing me, but it sends sparks racing through my blood. "Ohhhhh."

He moves over me gently with light touches and gentle caresses, nearly driving me insane in the process. I've never felt anything so magnificent.

His arms wrap around me and in an instant, he's going after me ferociously, his mouth moving against me urgently. My back arches off the bed as my body twists and I cry out. He pushes my hips flat against the bed again. "Oh, God," I gasp, my breathing coming so hard and fast I think I'm going to hyperventilate. "Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God."

His right arm tightens around me, his fingers spreading across my pelvis and hips, brushing over me lightly. I gasp and nearly fly off the bed, my hips already undulating at ridiculous speeds. And _he_ thought he was going to embarrass himself.

I look down at him to find him already watching me. He slows his motions, moving over me in long, languid strokes, and unravels his left arm, holding out his hand to me. Immediately, I reach for him, twining our fingers together. My knuckles turn white from the strain within moments. He mumbles something to me—could be my name, I honestly don't know—but the vibrations head straight through me and I thrust myself against his face. He tightens his grip on me and continues his slow torture.

"You know," I gasp as my body keeps trying to contort at odd angles, "for someone who didn't think he could contain himself a few minutes ago—ohhhhhhhh." He sucks at me, his tongue moving over me in obscene, delicious ways, and I almost lose it completely. "You seem to be holding out pretty well," I finish in a rush, not even sure if he can understand that last part.

"Got my second wind," he answers, his eyes never leaving mine. His fingers swipe against me insistently and I suddenly realize that I'm in trouble.

"Cha-Chandler," I sputter. "I…I'm going…ahhhh oh, my God, I'm going to…"

"Yeah, you are," he answers smugly. I'll have to remember to smack him for that later. His face nearly disappears suddenly and my hips start undulating against him again. He's going at me hard, not letting up, but somehow not putting the right amount of pressure in the right places.

"Oh, God, you're such a bastard," I moan.

His mouth leaves me completely and I almost cry at the loss. "I know," he whispers, shifting his free arm around so that he can stroke me teasingly with greater ease. He keeps his touch light and gentle, though I'm so wound up that it just feels like torture.

He surges forward, lying partially on the bed, and takes one of my nipples in his mouth. I whimper softly, my free hand coming up to stroke his hair. He gives it the slightest tug with his teeth and I gasp. He moves to the other breast and without further warning, I feel a couple of his fingers thrust in me. I cry out at his touch, my hands scrabbling at him, trying to find something to hold onto. He groans, his eyes screwing shut as I clench myself around him. "Oh, my God, Monica, you're so wet. I'm sorry," he apologizes immediately, and I manage to crack an eye open for him. "That sounded like something out of a porno." I chuckle a little, thought it turns into a gasp as he thrusts his hand again. "But you are," he gasps. "God, that's so hot."

I push against him, everything in me screaming out for a release. He stops thrusting as suddenly as he started, his weight leaving me, and my eyes fly open. "What's wrong?"

"Scoot back a little." He goes to remove his hand and I grab his wrist, keeping him in place. It's not the easiest way to move, but I'll be damned if I'm losing the contact now.

"What next?" I gasp as our fingers finally untwine and he kneels over me, his erection straining against the underwear I'd forgotten he was still wearing. I reach out to touch him but he ducks away immediately, earning a frustrated noise from me in the process.

"Grand finale, hopefully," he answers. He drops down, his lips tracing a light trail from my sternum. I feel my stomach muscles clench as his hand starts to move again—slowly, so slowly—and I grab at the blanket beneath me. I really want to grab his head and shove it down, but that might be a bit much.

I feel him nip at my thighs again and I look down at him, briefly wondering how he's managing to contort himself to do this before I feel his mouth on me again. "Ohhhhhhh, yes. Yes yes yes." I can see the muscles in his arm flex, the ones in his back ripple as he makes love to me with his mouth and I actually sob. I think I can see the corners of his mouth curve up and part of me can't believe that he seems so happy doing this.

Without warning, he speeds up. My knees bend and my toes curl so tightly that they actually manage to grab the comforter. He looks up at me again, our eyes meeting, and I explode. My body goes rigid for a couple of seconds before I start spasming erratically, completely out of control. I try my hardest to watch him, the eye contact making the orgasm more intense. I reach out and grab his arm, digging my fingernails into him, and I try to ride it out. "AHHHHHH! Oh, GOD! Chandler! YESYESYESYES!"

He keeps thrusting and suckling, and I think I'm going to pass out. I don't know how much more of this I can actually take. I keep pushing against him, though, trying to make it last for as long as possible. I don't care if I die at this point—what a way to go.

I feel him move his mouth, his lips moving to gently caress low on my belly, and his hand slows down to just a gentle stroke. My body hums with high voltage as I shake. My mind is completely blank, nothing but wave after wave of pleasure still rolling through me. The mattress beside me dips a little a few moments later and I feel Chandler settle next to me. He holds my hip gently, his fingers tracing gentle circles on my sensitive skin as I try to come back to earth.

When I finally open my eyes I find his face next to mine, a bright happy grin gracing his features. "Told you I was good at foreplay."

I laugh, almost hysterically, and grab his face, bringing him in for a kiss. "Oh, my God," I groan.

He wraps his arms around me and we lay front to front, completely pressed together. We kiss languidly around our grins and I hold onto him for dear life. I can still feel his erection pushing into my stomach, but I still have a little while before I'll be able to do anything about it.

"That…that was okay, wasn't it?" he asks, suddenly shy. "I mean, you liked it?"

"'Liked it?'" I repeat incredulously. "'Okay?' Those are the world's biggest understatements, but yeah, it was 'okay,' and I definitely 'liked it.' But honey, for future reference, and believe me when I say that I'm not complaining, I think foreplay stops about five minutes before I do _that_."

"Yeah, I know," he sighs, stroking my hair away from his face. "I got greedy."

"Well, you can be greedy any time you want," I answer, going in for another kiss. I drape my leg over his to pull him closer and he pushes me gently until we roll over, his body covering mine completely. It's one of the best things I've ever felt in my entire life.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers suddenly. "You make me so happy. I don't know if I've told you that lately."

I feel my chest constrict and I run a hand through his short, thick hair. "You make me happy, too," I answer, knowing with absolute certainty that I've never been happier in my entire life than when I'm with him. "You do have condoms, don't you? Because I'm wearing my diaphragm but I'd rather be over-prepared."

"I have them," he answers, kissing the tip of my nose. "I've had them since right after our first date."

I chuckle a little, wrapping my arms around him a little tighter. "Me, too. I'm kind of surprised we didn't have sex right there on the sidewalk, to be honest."

"It was too cold. Never could have happened." He kisses me then pulls back with a sigh. "Are you sure you want to tonight? Because we can wait if you want."

I shake my head, stroking the hair at the back of his neck. "No more waiting."


	18. Chapter 18

_Come sleep with me: We won't make Love, Love will make us._

* * *

He places one more lingering kiss on my lips before rolling off of me, digging through his nightstand drawer. I turn onto my side to watch him, reaching out to drag my fingers across his back. He shudders and I scoot closer to him, molding myself to his back. I can't get close enough to him right now. I kiss the back of his neck and whisper, "You should be naked, too." I slide my arm under his and stroke him slowly, up and down from his chest to his hip.

"Patience," he finally says, his voice strained and much lower than normal.

"I have been patient," I answer, pressing myself closer to him. "So have you. _Very_ patient." I move my hand lower and run my fingers over his erection, moaning at the feel of him. "I want you so bad." I would have thought that, after an orgasm like I just had, I'd be winding down by now, feeling very relaxed and lethargic. Not so much, though. Instead, I just feel even hornier than I did before.

I feel him pushing against me a little so I back off, letting him flop onto his back. I grab the waistband of his boxer briefs and gently pull them down, taking care not to injure him in the process. His eyes slam shut anyway as he takes deep breaths. He finally springs free and I unceremoniously shove the underwear down his legs, letting him kick it off. Over the last several weeks, I've gotten quite accustomed to how he feels, but I've never been eye to eye—so to speak—with his penis. Ordinarily, the male form is a little goofy, even in its fully aroused state, but I have never seen anything more beautiful than Chandler lying completely naked before me.

I straddle his legs and run my fingers over him carefully. His hips jerk and he grabs the blanket beneath him, his hands shaking as his knuckles turn white.

I love the feel of him. I have since the first time we groped each other on his couch. I love even more knowing the effect I have on him. I've never had anyone react as powerfully or as immediately to just my presence the way Chandler does.

I lean forward and very delicately run my tongue over him. "Oh, shit," he gasps. I grab his hips and do it again, taking him in my mouth for a few seconds before he pushes my shoulder. "Shit, shit, shit! Monica, you can't do that."

"Why not?" I take his hand off my shoulder and kiss his knuckles before holding it down on the bed, leaning over him once more. "I told you that I was good at it."

"I can tell," he groans as I run my lips over him.

"You ain't seen nothing yet," I whisper just before I take him into my mouth again, moaning a little at the way he feels in me.

"Oh, God! Monica!" His hips buck and I let go of his hand to grab his sides, trying to keep him down. "I don't want it to happen like this," he finally whimpers.

I suck at him a few more times, swirling my tongue around him as I slowly drag my head up, panting. "Like what?"

"Look, if I come now…I just…I want to have sex with you. I don't want to blow my load like a horny teenager getting head for the first time. I want to be _with_ you. Please. I want you so bad."

How can I refuse that? I lean forward again and inch my way up his body, trapping his erection between my breasts for a few moments before I move on. I feel every inch of him press against me, my entire body tingling with anticipation. I finally settle myself just above his hips, my thighs bracketing his sides, and the way our bodies feel pressed together like this is unreal. I lean forward and kiss him slowly; his arms wrap around me, one hand sliding up my back to tangle in my hair. I can still feel him pressing against me and I rock my hips back, pushing against him. We moan into each other's mouths and I tighten my grip on him.

I understand what he means. Going down on him is fun, but we have plenty of time for that later. I want to do this with him tonight. I want to know what it feels like and to find out if it's better than my imagination.

If I can just manage to stop doing _this_.

"Chandler," I whisper, pushing against him harder. He grabs my hips and holds me tight against him, moving himself back and forth in quick, powerful motions. "Oh, Jesus, yes." I don't even recognize my voice.

He leans up and kisses me again; I feel like I can hardly breathe but I grab the back of his neck and pull him closer.

With Herculean effort on my part I sit up, gasping, and I reach behind me to stroke him gently. He stretches out his arm, his fingers coming into contact with me again, and my entire body tenses up. I grasp him a little more firmly and consider it for a moment. I _do_ have my diaphragm in; technically, we don't _need_ the condom, and it wouldn't take much right now to put him right where I need him.

"I know what you're thinking," he whispers. "I don't know if I'm ready for that possibility yet, though."

I blink and the fog around my brain lifts a little at his words. I nod in understanding, trailing my fingers down him again. "Okay."

He tugs at my legs, smiling at me crookedly. "Come here."

"Where?" I ask, letting myself be pulled forward.

"I want to try something for a minute," he answers. He grabs my ass and pulls me closer, over his chest until I'm nearly sitting—

"Ohhhhhh," I moan as he begins his beautiful assault once more. He moves his arms so that they're wrapped under my legs and I fall forward, catching myself on the headboard. "What're you doing?" I gasp.

"Foreplay," he mumbles against me, barely coming up for air. "Want to show you that I can actually do it right."

My entire body twitches and my arm comes up, bracing on the wall. I rest my head against my forearm as I tense myself, trying my damndest not to crush him completely. I've never done it like this before. I've _wanted_ to, sure, but I've never had the opportunity. And now, this incredible man is doing it voluntarily.

His tongue flicks over me rapidly and my hips rock of their own volition. "Oh, my God," I whimper. "Chandler…"

I crack my eyes open and look down at him, the expression on his face nearly making my heart stop. He seems to very much enjoy what he's doing. I keep my arm braced against the wall as another shudder works through me and reach down with my other hand, running my fingers through his locks. He sucks at me suddenly and I grab a fistful of his hair accidentally, holding him in place as my back arches, my head falling back as I call out to the ceiling. "OHHHHHH." I look down at him again as I rock against his mouth and now he's watching me, studying me very intently. I smile at him weakly as I gasp, digging my knees into the pillow under his head. I want him to stop. I want him to keep going. I want to do this forever.

"Don't hold back," he mumbles.

"If I don't hold back, I'll wind up breaking your nose AHHHH! GOD!" He tightens his arms around me, keeping me against him, and my body pushes on him again. I can't control it.

And just like that, his mouth is gone. He kisses my inner thigh a couple of times and relaxes his grip. I slide off him carefully as I try not to vibrate completely off the bed. "Can I do that every night?" he asks as he pants for air, staring at me in wonder.

"Only if you want me to go insane," I answer, unwrapping the condom that has been lying forgotten on his nightstand.

"What a way to go." He grabs my wrist before I can roll the condom on him, shaking his head. I watch his hands shake as he puts it on, looking to him for approval before I crawl back over to him.

I straddle his thighs once again and we stare at each other for a few moments, both breathing heavily. This is it.

Oh, God, I can't wait.

I lift myself up and he reaches down, holding himself steady. Slowly, I sink down on him, my heart hammering. His hands go to my hips and his eyes grow wide as he watches me. "Ohhhh," I whimper as he fills me, and something deep within me shifts. Our hips meet and I just stare at him as my entire body shakes.

"You felt it, too?" he finally whispers, his fingers reverently stroking my thighs, and I don't have to ask him what he meant.

"Yeah," I whisper as my eyes fill with tears. "I felt it."

It seems so stupid and cliché to feel complete when you finally have sex with someone, but I suddenly feel as if everything is as it should be. I feel like something I didn't realize I was missing has found its way to me. I _do_ feel complete. For the first time in my life, I feel _right_.

Judging by the way he's looking at me right now, he feels the exact same way.

Whoa.

Slowly, I lift myself up, watching him swallow heavily, before I drop back down.

Oh, yeah. This is very, _very_ different.

I lean over and brace my hands against his chest, and start to move. His eyes roll back in his head as his fingers dig into my legs.

"God, Monica, you feel incredible," he groans, his hips leaving the bed in small fractions to meet mine.

I force myself to move slowly; as good as this feels and as much as I want him, I don't want to rush this.

His eyes open again and he stares at me, fascinated. I smile at him as I push back a little, reaching for his hands. Our fingers twine in midair and I can feel the strength in his arms as I brace myself, using him as leverage. I move against him in steady strokes; pleasure ripples through me in gentle, building waves. It's nearly too much.

I stop for a moment, panting, and he squeezes my fingers. "You okay?" he whispers.

"Perfect," I whisper back, realizing it's the truth. "I'm perfect."

"You are," he agrees. "You're perfection."

I smile and rock my hips against his, both of us moaning at the friction we create. "Oh, my God," I gasp, clutching his hands tighter. I move my hips faster and his eyes slam shut against the onslaught. "Chandler…"

"Holy shit," he grunts. "God!"

My mouth drops open as I watch him, wordless noises falling out of me as we move. I don't know how much longer I can take this before I explode.

At that, I make myself ease back a little. I go back to pushing myself up and down, which still feels amazing though a little less intense. His eyes open again and he watches me lazily. He seems to have found some sort of control for the moment and now looks almost cocky. He releases one of my hands and I tilt back to brace myself on his knee, my eyes rolling back for a moment at the change in angle. I feel him softly stroking my skin, cupping my breast for a few moments as his thumb gently rubs the nipple. I push my chest at him, hoping for more, but his hand slides away, tracing patterns all over my stomach.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers. "I know I keep saying it, but you are."

"I think _you're_ beautiful," I answer.

"Is this really happening?" he asks me, his hand resting on my hip.

"I think so." I slam down on him a few times, changing it up for a couple of moments before I resume our slow rhythm. "Oh, God, I hope so."

His thumb presses into me suddenly and I let out a wail—an honest to God wail, a sound unlike anything I've ever produced. I move against him faster as he rubs me. He watches me as he works and I lose control of the speed and my movements. I slam against him hard and I know I'll feel it in the morning.

"How's that?" he asks, his voice amazingly calm as his thumb goes faster.

"Chandler, Chandler, Chandler," I chant as I push myself against him in every way that I can. "Need you." God, who cares if I'm sore in the morning? I'll happily be sore every day for the rest of my life if I can just have sex like this over and over and over.

He grits his teeth as he stares at his hand, at what his fingers are doing. I see beads of sweat pop out all over his head as I thrust faster and faster. I push against our joined hands and I feel everything in me start to vibrate. He lets out what can only be called a growl and moves both of his hands, wrapping his arms around me as I collapse on top of him. We kiss frantically, our hips still slamming against each other urgently.

"Wait wait wait," he finally mumbles, grabbing my ass and stopping me completely.

I lift my head and blink at him in confusion. "What? Why?"

He slides one hand up my back, moving my hair off of my neck. "Because I've never had sex this amazing before. I don't ever want it to end."

I smile broadly and frame his face with my hands. "This _is_ pretty amazing." I move my hips gently against him, feeling him thrust up in response. "Aren't you the one who said he's quick on the trigger, though?"

"Apparently I lied." His arms wrap around me and I fall against him. He pulls me in for another kiss and our bodies move as one, slowly and gently.

 _Amazing_ isn't the right word for it. _Incredible_ might be a little closer, but that's not quite right, either. I only know for sure that this is, hands down, the best sex I've ever had in my entire life, and I know it's because it's with Chandler.

I pull away from him just a little, bracing my arms on either side of his head. I watch his face as we move, every expression fascinating. My eyes flutter shut after a few moments as I moan, his hands pressing into me to keep me close. I feel his mouth on my breast and shudder. His lips trace across me as he tries to hold on through our thrusting. He finally settles on nuzzling my cleavage, his five o'clock shadow tickling my delicate flesh.

"I'm going to have a rash in the morning from your scruff," I tell him as I slide one arm around his shoulders, the other going out to brace us as he pushes up a little more.

"You're welcome," he whispers.

I chuckle and look down at him; he peaks back at me over my breasts, and I can tell by the way his eyes are crinkled that he's grinning like an idiot.

I love this so much. First-time sex is almost always at least a little awkward, and usually sort of serious. Personally, I'm usually too self-aware to get very relaxed, or I focus so hard on trying to clear my mind so that I might have an orgasm that I can't think about anything else. With Chandler, though, we're making little jokes and teasing each other, laughing a bit, talking, and it's simply unbelievable. It's comfortable, but not in a humdrum sort of way. I'm just at ease with him, and this all feels completely natural, like it's what we're supposed to be doing. Maybe it's because of all the prep work we did beforehand; maybe it's because we took some time to get to know each other. Maybe it's just because of our insane chemistry. Right now, the _why_ doesn't feel that important.

He kisses his way up my chest to my neck, biting at my flesh for a few moments before dropping back against the bed. I pause again and press my forehead to his, unable to fight the massive grin that spreads across my face. He smiles back at me as he pushes the hair back from my eyes. We breathe heavily against each other for a while without moving, though the feeling of my impending orgasm only abates slightly. I press a kiss to his lips and sit up, rocking my hips against his once more.

He grabs my thighs to help me move, his touch somehow both gentle and demanding, eager and restrained. "I love watching you like this," he manages to tell me around his heavy breathing, his eyes at half mast.

"Oh, yeah?" I gasp, moving my hips faster.

"Yeah."

I lean back, bracing both of my hands behind me on his legs. "How about this?"

"Monica," he groans, his eyes closing for a few moments before he forces them open, staring at me as I move.

My head falls back as I dig my fingers into his thighs; the angle increases the friction we're creating and I let out another wail. "Ohhhhhhhh GOD! Ohhh, ohhhh, yeah. Yes, Chandler, there, please, there."

He sits up suddenly, wrapping his arms around me. I can feel him thrusting his hips up faster as I undulate. There's no space between us, our hips feel like they're permanently fused at this point. I clutch him tightly to me and kiss him for only a few moments before I have to pull away, gasping.

He buries is face in my neck, and I can feel his hot breath against my skin as he gasps. "Oh, Monica. You…God, you—ahhhhh!—you're so amazing. Want to…forever. So good."

I push against him faster. He can't even form complete sentences right now so I must be doing something right.

He leans up and kisses me again, and I can feel him smiling against my lips. He grabs my hips suddenly and moves me faster against him. I feel pressure building in me like a dam about to burst.

I gasp as I pull away, my eyes shutting tight against the onslaught. "Oh, God," I whimper. "Please." I force my eyes open and meet his; he's watching me in wonder and amazement. "Please."

He relaxes his grip on me, letting me take control once more, and my hips start gyrate erratically. My arms wrap tightly around his shoulders and I dig my fingers into his skin. He stretches up to kiss me again, briefly, our breathing not steady enough to hold out for very long. I feel him push against me faster and my eyes grow wide as my mouth drops open. My knees dig into his hips as I start spasming out of control.

"AHHHHHHH! CHANDLER! OHGODOHGODOHGODYESYESYESYES OHHHHHHH!" My orgasm rips through me, almost violently, and I lose all control of myself. I try to hold onto him as I fall apart, thrusting against him faster than I ever knew possible.

He presses his face against my chest and I feel his fingernails bite into the skin of my thighs. His movements grow jerky and he moans against me. "Shit, Monica—fuck! GOD. Ahhh, gah oh yeah, yeah, fuck!"

I feel like weeping. I might already be, actually. We hold each other as our bodies tremor violently, gibberish falling out of our mouths as feelings I've never know before flood through me. I tighten my grip on him and keep pushing—I've nearly gotten to the point of pain but I don't want to stop.

He flips us over suddenly, and I'm flat on my back as he pounds his hips into me. He lifts his head and our eyes meet, the orgasm still rolling through both of us as we both fight to keep it going as long as possible.

I brace my feet on the bed and push my hips up frantically a couple of times as the last few waves wash over me, then collapse. He drops onto me just a couple of moments later as he gasps. We bury our faces in each other's necks as we gasp for air. My body shakes violently—or maybe that's his. I reach up to stroke his back, his hair, whatever I can reach, and he presses a kiss to my collarbone.

"Holy shit," he finally croaks, and all I can do is giggle. I wrap my legs around his waist to keep him close and I laugh.

He finally manages to lift his head, his expression confused, hurt tingeing his eyes, and I shake my head. "That was incredible," I tell him through my laughter, my voice scratchy.

He smiles—brightly, brilliantly—but he still looks a little confused. "Then why are you laughing?"

"No idea," I answer, trying to reign myself in. "Endorphins? Giddiness?"

"Just…making sure you're not laughing at me."

"God, _no_ ," I answer vehemently. "Chandler…that was _amazing_. I've never had sex like that before." I laugh again, my arms and legs finally going limp as I sprawl on the bed. "Happy," I tell him. "I'm laughing because I'm happy."

He leans down and kisses me, no easy feat around our big, stupid grins and my almost uncontrollable bouts of laughter. "I'm happy, too," he finally says. He kisses me again then rolls off of me onto his back. His chest is still heaving as he tries to get his breathing under control. I watch him reach down and pull off the condom, dumping it into the trashcan next to the bed, and I curl into his side, draping my arm and leg over him.

"Is this okay?" I ask, sighing contentedly.

"Hell, yeah." I chuckle again and kiss his shoulder. His hand comes up and slides up my arm, rubbing me gently, and I suddenly shiver violently. "Whoa—you okay?"

"Cold," I answer. My body has started to come down from its phenomenal high, though my mind still feels blissful.

He rolls away from me suddenly and stands, grabbing onto the side of the bed when his knees almost give out. He looks up at me and laughs, shaking his head before he tugs at the blankets under me. I sit up a little and shift, letting him turn down the bed. He crawls in next to me a moment later and pulls the covers over us. He holds out his arm for me and I burrow into his side again. "You were planning on staying, right?"

"I'm not going anywhere," I mumble, lethargy settling over my body. My eyes open wide, though, as I realize why he asked me that. "Oh, God. I'm a horrible person. Do you think Katie is okay?"

"Who?" he asks, looking at me blearily for a moment before he shakes his head. "Shit. Yeah, no, she's fine." He pauses, cocking his head to one side as he listens to the little monitor on his nightstand, one I hadn't even noticed before now. Silence greets us, aside from a couple of tiny snuffling noises. "She's fine," he repeats, settling next to me once more.

"Is it ridiculous of me to say that I'm glad we waited?" I ask suddenly, and he squeezes his arms around me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

"No. I think sex would have been good at the beginning, but it was probably better now. That was…that was…"

"It was," I agree, and he gives me a little squeeze.

"Yeah. It was unlike anything I've ever felt before."

I stretch up and take his face gently in my hand. "Thank you so much," I tell him softly.

"For what? For having the hottest girlfriend in the world? For having the most amazing sex known to man? For—"

"For being so patient with me while I figured all of this out." I lean in and kiss him. "You're wonderful."

He swallows slowly, suddenly looking a little bashful. "That's the post-coital bliss talking."

I shake my head, feeling way too emotional at the moment. "No; you're wonderful. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me against him. I can feel him pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "Are you always like this after sex?"

I laugh quietly, knowing it comes out a little watery. "Not _this_ bad, no. I do get kind of clingy, though, so I'm sorry in advance."

"Clingy how?" he asks, his fingers running gently up and down my back. "Should I expect to be tangled up with you all night?"

I pull back from him, feeling a little bit of disappointment kick in. He's not a cuddler? "Is that going to be a problem? Because I can—"

He tugs me back to him, nearly pulling me across his chest before kissing me deeply. "No problem at all," he finally whispers. "I don't mind being wrapped up with you. I just wanted to know what you meant."

"Well, yeah, I guess I can be a little vine-like after sex. I don't know if that's how I'll spend the night, but I'll fall asleep draped all over you. But, you know, tomorrow, and maybe a few days after, I'll probably just want to be around you all the time. I'll want to hold your hand even if we're just sitting on the couch, or I'll be reluctant to let you leave my sight for even a few minutes. I'll try not to be too needy, I promise, but I'm going to want to be around you all the time."

He's quiet for a while, though I can tell he's still awake by the hand that's stroking my shoulder. "So, I guess if we have sex at least once a day, I'll get to keep you around for a while."

I breathe a sigh of relief and prop myself up a little, grinning at him. "If you want me to stick around, I'll gladly stay."

"If I want you to stick around," he repeats, rolling his eyes. "Monica, I've been trying to get you to just spend the night with me for, what? Almost two months now? If we're not together, I call you or text you incessantly. I call you when I first wake up in the morning and I try to keep you here for as late as possible every night. I think it's safe to say that I want you here."

"For how long?"

"Until you can't stand the sight of me," he answers. I know we're just spewing romantic nonsense at each other right now, but it's still nice to hear it.

"I don't see that happening any time soon." I lean down and kiss him before settling in again. My body twitches violently for a couple of seconds out of nowhere, and I laugh as it passes.

"The _hell_ was that?" he asks, laughter in his voice.

"Aftershock," I answer. "I think parts of me are still orgasming."

"You are welcome." He sounds so absurdly smug that I pinch his side a little. He laughs and grabs my wrist, twisting away from me. He brings my hand up to his lips and kisses the palm before releasing me. I keep my arm draped across his body, gently holding on to his shoulder and we both sigh happily. "'Night, Monica. I'm so happy that you're here with me." Just a few moments later I hear the sound of him breathing deeply. I kiss his shoulder, amazed that he can fall asleep so quickly.

"'Night, Chandler," I answer softly, and I close my eyes.

* * *

*A/N…hey, remember how at some point last summer, I'd never written smut before? And you guys had to beg and plead for me to write it, sure that I'd be able to nail it (if you'll pardon the expression)? What happened to that girl? The one who was so nervous writing that first sex scene that she actually shook? Now, it's like I can't get enough of it. Also, I don't think it happened quite like this, but I'm rewriting history here. Anyway, I like to think this chapter lived up to your hopes and dreams for this moment. I'm working hard toward becoming more honest and frank in these sorts of chapters, too, which is now the truly challenging part for me. I struggle with knowing how much is too much, or if the phrasing sounds realistic, that sort of thing. I still shy away from certain words, mostly because I've never heard certain things used outside of porn…which I've NEVER watched, by the way. And if I do, it's only for research purposes ;)

This chapter features a moment I desperately wanted to use in "You," but it seemed like too much for that story. However, I think I managed to fit it seamlessly into this one, so perhaps it's worked out for the best.

Also, I've been slacking on reading fic. If any of you out there have written things, please know that I'm not just reading and not reviewing. I just haven't gotten there yet. I've noticed that there's some new stuff floating around and I can't wait to get to it, but I've been trapped in the damn Matrix lately, and that's not even a metaphor. I've watched/listened to that trilogy so many times lately that it's stupid (I tend to get caught in an endless loop with those movies, and I always forget that when I haven't watched them for a while) (and actually, that's a lie—I can't really watch the third one a lot. It makes me too mad. But I can do the first one over and over, and the second one to a degree, too). I've been reading some fic from those, at any rate, but I'll be back to Mondler stories at some point. Cross my heart!

Aren't you glad when the author's notes are almost as long as the damn chapter? Anyway, thanks for reading, both the story and this part. You guys make my world go 'round!


	19. Chapter 19

_I read once that the ancient Egyptians had fifty words for sand & the Eskimos had a hundred words for snow. I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep & there are no words for that._

* * *

I hear a baby crying and I look around frantically. The noise echoes off the walls, bouncing everywhere, and I can't pinpoint where it's coming from. She needs me and I can't help her.

My heart starts to pound and I run; her cries don't get louder, but they don't fade away, either. Where could she be?

"Katie," I call. "Katie!"

The wailing gets louder and my eyes fly open. "Katie?" I mumble, trying to piece everything together.

I feel a hand on my arm and jump. "It's okay. Go back to sleep." I look over my shoulder, disoriented as Chandler comes into view. I blink at him a few times, confused, before everything comes flooding back. I'm curled up in bed with him on purpose. We had amazing sex.

My heart slows down a little as I turn over, watching Chandler slide to the edge of the bed. He stands and stretches, and I can't help but smile. We just did a lot of wonderful, fantastic, dirty things but never once did I see his ass. I never even thought about it. But I've spent so much time over the last few months admiring it beneath his clothes, it's nice to find that it's just as cute bare.

He grabs a pair of pajama pants from the edge of the bed and tugs them on, the baby getting louder the longer she has to wait for her minions. "Daddy's coming," he mumbles, his voice low and gravely. "It's okay, Katie, Daddy's coming." A few moments later I can hear him through the monitor, gently shushing her, though it sounds like she's having none of it. "Whatsa matter, sweetheart?"

I can hear rustling around and what sounds like a diaper being changed, but it's hard to tell over Katie's cries.

"Oh, baby girl. Daddy's got you. It's okay." Apparently not, because she doesn't stop crying.

I lie back against the pillows and smile as I listen—not because that precious little girl is distraught, but because I've never been here for this part. Obviously, I've seen Chandler comfort his daughter, but somehow it's not the same as this.

"You're not getting sick, are you?" There's a pause where I can only assume he's feeling her forehead. "You feel okay. Is it a tooth? Does your mouth hurt?" Her cries become garbled as he probably sticks his finger in her mouth, checking out her gums. "Doesn't feel like anything new." Katie wails louder. "Oh, I know. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, right, Daddy? Yeah, I know. Your life is tough, I get it."

I can picture him pacing the floor with her, gently walking her back and forth. It's true—when she has a meltdown in public he panics, worried that he's going to get in trouble for his baby causing a scene, but when he's at home and she's upset, he doesn't stress at all.

"Are you hungry? It's been a while since you ate, hasn't it?" His voice fades away and I can hear him walking through the apartment, Katie's cries traveling to the kitchen. I lie very still and listen, though it's impossible to hear him from where I am.

A few minutes later I hear him walking back to her nursery, talking to her quietly. My heart breaks for her—I want so badly to be able to help, but I don't know that there's anything I could do at this point. She's just upset.

Besides, I really don't think that it's my place to butt in on their moment.

"You're going to wake up the whole neighborhood, Katie-did," I hear him say. "Eat something. You'll feel better." She's suddenly quiet, and I can almost feel Chandler's relief through the monitor. "There. That's the ticket, isn't it? You just needed some food in your belly, didn't you?" I smile as my eyes start to grow heavy again, only for them to fly open at the sound of crying again, maybe louder than before. "Oh, Katie. I'm sorry—I don't know what you want. You _sure_ you don't want your bottle?" She's quiet for another moment before, I imagine, she turns her head, refusing the food. "All right, this is my last resort. You have no one to blame but yourself."

My forehead furrows in confusion; what on earth could he be talking about?

" _Goodnight sweetheart, well, it's time to go_."

Tears instantly fill my eyes. Singing. He meant singing.

" _Goodnight sweetheart, well, it's time to go. I hate to leave you but I really must say goodnight, sweetheart, goodnight_."

Amazingly, Katie starts to calm. Her cries grow weaker. My insides turn to mush.

" _Well, it's three o'clock in the morning…baby, I just can't treat you right. Well, I hate to leave you, baby, I don't mean maybe, because I love you so_."

I scoot down in bed and turn on my side, watching the monitor. Even though all I can do is hear him right now, it's completely mesmerizing. It seems that Katie thinks so, too, because her tears have very nearly ended. I hear a little bit of rustling and it sounds like he's putting her back in her crib.

" _Goodnight sweetheart, well it's time to go. Goodnight sweetheart, well it's time to go_." Truly, if it's possible to spontaneously ovulate, it's happening right now. " _I hate to leave you but I really must say goodnight, sweetheart, goodnight_." Nothing but silence comes through the monitor.

Wow. That was incredible.

He waits a few minutes before he comes padding back into the bedroom. I hear the rustle of clothing as he pulls off his pajama pants and a moment later he slides in next to me. I look up at him and smile, and he groans. "God. You heard that, didn't you?"

"What's wrong with that? It was beautiful."

"She made me do it," he answers defensively.

"Chandler, it was the sweetest thing I've ever heard."

I feel him shrug as he turns on his side, wrapping me in his arms. "Well, I was only going to give her another few minutes before I threw her at you. I figured your magic touch would do it." I press a kiss to the hollow of his throat, the quiet moan that escapes him vibrating against my lips. "Sorry I kept you awake."

"You didn't," I assure him, moving my lips to his neck. His hand slides over my hip as he pulls me in, rubbing against me just a little.

"Well, since you're up…"

I'm cut off mid-laugh as he kisses me. I sigh into his mouth and he pushes me onto my back, covering my body with his. "You think _you're_ up for it?"

He snickers into my mouth before he pulls back, pressing his forehead against my shoulder. "Wonderfully executed pun, Mon. And since you asked…" He pauses, wiggling himself against me, and I feel a shudder run through me. "I think I could be up for it. If not, well, I could certainly set up camp somewhere south of the border for a while."

I grab the back of his head and pull him to me. "Why did we wait so long to do this?" I mumble as he kisses me.

"Timing, unexpected babies, blah blah blah," he answers, one hand sliding down my side and back up again. He moves to my chest, suckling at my skin, occasionally nipping hard enough that I know he'll leave little marks all over my skin. Good thing he's the only one I'm planning to see me naked.

I brace my feet on the bed, feeling him settle against me, and I run a hand through his hair. One of his arms slides under me to hold me close; we kiss each other thoroughly, luxuriously. God, this is so perfect. Tonight has been completely perfect.

Chandler's perfect.

I hear him groping around on his nightstand, looking for another condom. I put my hand on his face and pull away a fraction, his breath still mingling with mine. "Chandler, wait."

"Where the hell are those things?" he mutters. "You don't have sex for _forever_ and those little bastards multiply, mocking you every chance they get, but the moment you have the chance to get laid, they go into hiding."

I giggle quietly and pat his cheek. "No, really, Chandler. Wait."

He focuses on me, pulling his head back a little to see me clearly. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head as I study his face; even in the near dark of his bedroom, I can see just how blue his eyes are. His forehead crinkles in confusion. My heart pounds. He actually makes my heart pound. Not just in the fluttery, new relationship way, but in a "my heart beats for him" way.

"I love you," I finally whisper. His eyes grow wide and I shake my head again. "I'm not telling you because we just had sex for the first time or to get you to say it back to me or anything like that. You don't have to feel that way about me now, or ever, really, but I needed you to know—"

"I love you, too," he answers, his grin nearly lighting up the room.

My entire body sags with relief. "You do?"

"You're crazy," he whispers, pushing my hair away from my face. "Of course I love you."

My eyes fill with tears, but I think my smile rivals his. "Oh, my God!"

"I love everything about you," he continues, forgetting his search for the condom to wrap his arms around me. "I love your eyes, I love your perfect little nose, I love the freckles all over your cheeks that you're always trying to cover up."

"Chandler," I whisper. "Stop."

He ignores me, giving me a quick kiss. "I love your lips. I love your hands. I love your legs." He pauses, kissing me again. "I love your breasts and I've very recently discovered just how much I love—"

"You're such a pig," I tell him, smacking his ass.

"But you know what I love most?"

"Well, I wasn't expecting a list at all, so I have no idea."

"C'mon, Monica," he whines playfully. "You know what I love most?"

I sigh in mock irritation. "What do you love most?"

"I love how you love Katie." My heart does a little flippy thing and we tighten our arms around each other simultaneously.

"She's really easy to love," I answer, my voice thick. "I've loved her since the first moment I met her."

"I know. And you've always been so worried about what's best for her, and you take such good care of her. She loves you and she trusts you. You're one of the only people who can get her to sleep—"

"You know, I didn't prepare a speech, honey," I interrupt, his verbal worship of me too much to take.

"I'm sorry," he chuckles, pressing his forehead against mine for a second. "I don't mean to be all gushy. I just need to tell you what you mean to me. I'm so very much in love with you, Monica. You're one of the two best things to ever happen to me." I don't have to ask what the other is.

"I'm in love with you, too, Chandler. All of you. Every part of you. I wish I felt more eloquent right now, but…I really wanted you to know how I feel."

"Thank you," he whispers. I reach up, stroking his cheek, as he stares at me. I understand why, though. I'm just completely floored right now. I never expected to tell him that tonight, and I really didn't think he'd say it back.

There's not a doubt in my mind, though—I love this guy. I love him and I love his daughter, and I want to stick around for as long as they'll keep me.

I pull his face to mine and give him a gentle kiss, though it's not easy around our gigantic grins. "Did I ever tell you what I thought about you the first time we met?"

"That you wanted me for my body?"

"Actually, I wanted you for your eyes, but that's not what I meant."

He looks surprised, though his eyes do open wider for me. "Really? My eyes?"

"You're always fishing for compliments, you know that?"

He leans down and kisses my neck, making me forget for a few moments about anything but the way he feels. "I kinda like to hear you sing my praises. Is that so wrong?"

"Mmmmmm, no," I nearly moan. "But I sing your praises all the time, so there's no need to try to weasel them out of me."

He trails his lips slowly down my chest, studiously avoiding any key areas. "So what did you think the first time we met?"

My eyes flutter shut—I'm definitely having a hard time concentrating. "It was right before we met, actually."

"Okay then," he mumbles, making his way toward my abdomen. "What did you think _right before_ we met?"

"That you were an entitled asshole."

He freezes, his head slowly tilting up to meet mine. "Ouch."

I grin at him and reach out to stroke his hair. "I was standing behind you in line at the coffee shop. You didn't know I was there—I guess you didn't think anyone was behind you at all because you kept chatting with the girl behind the counter. I was so pissed off and could only think horrible things about you."

He grins at me crookedly, one hand coming up to stroke the top of my breast gently. "Why didn't you say anything?"

I shiver a little at his touch. "Because I hate confrontation."

His eyebrow reaches for this hairline as he scoffs at me. "Yeah, right. You fight with me all the time."

I roll my eyes. "I hate confrontation with people I don't know. I'm great at fighting with friends and loved ones, but when it comes to someone I've never met, I'd rather just be irrationally angry."

He presses a kiss to my hip. "So, what was so infuriating about me?"

I watch him move his lips to various spots on my body, nearly too fascinated to be turned on. Nearly.

"Well, I figured you _had_ to know I was behind you, and you just didn't care. I figured you were so worried about making that girl laugh that you couldn't be bothered concerning yourself with just one person behind you."

He pauses again, looking a touch insulted now. "Geez. You form ridiculously strong opinions of people you've never even met."

"I never said I was one hundred percent rational, did I?" He grins a little and kisses my bellybutton. "Right. Anyway, it's not like I don't change those instantaneous, irrational opinions. If I didn't, I don't think we'd be in bed together right now."

"Oh, I wouldn't bet on that," he says with a cocky wink before breaking out into quiet laughter. "Would you believe that I really had no idea that you were behind me?"

"Seriously?" I ask, disbelief tingeing my voice.

"Seriously. I can be fairly oblivious when I'm in the middle of a conversation, especially because at that point, I mostly only talked to either Joey or Katie. I mean, I had a few conversations at work, but other than that, it was the two of them. As you can imagine, I was kind of in need of moderately adult interaction. I never heard the door open, and Leigh never gave any indication that someone was behind me."

"Leigh?"

"The girl behind the counter."

"First name basis, huh?" I ask, hoping it comes across as teasing. I know it sounds a little catty and possessive, though.

"Joey had slept with her recently," he answers with a shrug. "Imagine my shock at walking out to the kitchen one morning to find her standing in her underwear, making coffee. It felt a little…odd. Anyway, he kind of one-night-standed her and I was trying to do damage control. It's my favorite coffee place and the one most convenient to everything I do, and I didn't want things to get awkward with her. And I was kind of hoping to avoid getting a loogie in my coffee."

"Is there anyone Joey _hasn't_ slept with?"

"Well, there's you. Off the top of my head, that's all I've got. He's pretty much covered the rest of the tri-city area."

"I can promise you, Chandler." I pause, swallowing heavily as he suddenly moves his lips the very top of my thigh, "that I will never sleep with Joey."

"That's a relief," he whispers. My legs drift open to cradle him and he looks at me longingly. "Is it okay that I like to do this?"

"Oh, my God, YES," I answer enthusiastically. "Anyone with your oral skills, it would be a shame if he _didn't_ like to do it."

"All those pseudo-witty remarks and endless running of my mouth have to come in handy for something. My jaw just doesn't get tired."

My entire body shudders as his tongue finds me again and my eyes fall shut. My hips thrust forward slowly of their own volition, and I smile as I moan. It doesn't look like we'll be getting much sleep tonight.

Hell…I can sleep when I'm dead.

* * *

*A/N…full disclosure—I stole this moment from Three Men & A Baby. Some of you may know that already. However, I was listening to the movie at work a while back and when I got to moment where the guys sing to the baby, I thought to myself—"What if that were Chandler? What if Monica came into a relationship with Chandler when he already had a child?" and kablam! I present this story to you. I also knew I had to rip off this scene, but I figured as long as I didn't take credit for it, it was fine.

Gotta admit, I loved writing that last chapter I posted for you guys. Don't know why; it was just a lot of fun. The moment where she presses her forehead against his always sticks with me. Oddly, though not I suppose not terribly unusually, I felt like I got fewer responses for that chapter (that could be my imagination, or perhaps I'm just needy). Always the way it goes—I really love writing something in particular and it feels like it falls short. Maybe I just have higher hopes/expectations for the ones I really like. Maybe (and this is how I should really to think about it) what I wrote was so phenomenal that I broke the internet. You guys maybe just dropped your phones and other reading devices and said, "I'm done. I'm out. It can't get better than this." It's more likely that I got the exact same amount of feedback, I'm just so insecure that it didn't feel like enough.

Isa (I'm pretty sure) said that she likes my long notes at the end because it gives her insight into my writing process. I think I'm paraphrasing a little, but it was something like that. If you guys ever want to know anything about how this "magic" happens, feel free to ask. For the most part, though, it's me staring a computer screening, terrified out of my mind that I won't have anything to say.

Also—you got your damn "I love yous." Are you happy? ;)


	20. Chapter 20

_This morning, with her, having coffee._

* * *

I feel an arm tighten around my middle, the skin at the back of my neck being tickled a moment later as I feel someone's breath come out in a deep, long sigh.

No; not _someone._ Chandler.

I'm in bed with Chandler.

I spent the night with Chandler.

I made love with Chandler.

A grin starts to spread across my face. We made love several times, if memory serves.

Lips press against my shoulder. "Good morning."

I giggle a little, turning to hide my face in his arm, cradled beneath my head. "Hi."

His hand creeps its way up from my stomach. "How did you sleep?"

I nestle myself more firmly against his body, spooned behind me. "I slept great." I did, too. I woke up a couple of times slightly disoriented, but the rest of the time was deep and peaceful. "I don't think I've slept that well in years."

He kisses my shoulder again. "Same. You should stay over more often."

"Mmmm, definitely."

His hand continues moving, his fingers tracing over first one breast, then the other. His touch is gentle, almost casual, but it's still enough to make me shiver a little. "I'm going to hold you to that," he whispers into my ear before kissing the edge of it.

His hand cups me and I pull the sheet away from us a little, watching his ministrations. "Find something you like?"

I feel him chuckle against my back before he kisses my neck. "Turns out the fascination with your squishy bits is hereditary."

I groan and he laughs full out, pulling away and giving my shoulder a gentle nudge so I land on my back. He drapes himself partially on me, brushing my hair away from my face as he smiles down at me lovingly. He leans down to kiss me and I turn my face at the last minute, his lips landing on my cheek. "Morning breath," I tell him, trying not to breathe on him.

I feel his hand on my face, carefully turning me back to him. "I don't care." His lips are on mine before I can protest, my eyes fluttering shut. I wrap my arms around him, trying to keep him as close as possible.

He drops to his side and pulls me against him, our bodies flush. "I love you," I whisper. He pauses for a moment and I pull back, swallowing heavily. "Please don't tell me I dreamt that last night," I beg, my heart hammering.

He shakes his head, smiling at me. "I was starting to convince myself that I imagined it all. I love you, too." He kisses me again, just for a moment, before he drops his head to the pillow. His eyes light up as he looks at me, brilliant blue in the early morning light. "That feels so amazing to say."

"This doesn't feel like real life," I whisper as I reach over, tracing a finger across his lips.

"Too good to be true," he agrees, his hand sliding to the back of my neck to pull me in for another kiss. I drape my leg over his, feeling him stirring against me. He grabs my thigh and pulls my leg around his waist, our hips moving oh-so-gently against each other, when the baby monitor comes to life. Tiny whines and snuffles issue forth and we pull apart, sighing. "There's that cold bucket of water." He gives me a quick kiss before sitting up, scrubbing his hands over his face.

I reach out and run my fingers down his back, watching him shiver. "You're so beautiful," I whisper, almost to myself.

He gives me a look, almost like a confused puppy, before he smiles at me. "Definitely the post-coital bliss talking." He hops out of bed and I grin at his form nearly glowing in the soft light of the early morning.

"You have a cute ass," I tell him, propping myself up on one elbow.

"What?" he asks, self-consciously dragging his pajama pants on before grabbing a t-shirt off the foot of the bed and pulling it over his head.

"Remember, back on our first date, you asked me what was funny and I told you that I might tell you later?"

He puts his hands on his hips, looking at me suspiciously. "Vaguely."

"Well, I'd realized that you have a cute butt. I noticed when we first met, and I noticed it again that night. I felt a little ashamed that I kept focusing on your ass, and then I had some thought about slapping you on it and telling you to go make me a sandwich."

He bursts out laughing, leaning down to kiss me. "You've been having impure thoughts about me for a long time."

I bite my lip, trying to hold in my laughter. "You bet your sweet ass I have."

"God, you're worse than I am," he groans, looking thoroughly amused. He sits down next to me, the noises filtering in through the monitor still soft. "Anyway, take your time. I need to get Katie situated and brush my teeth and stuff, but there's no need for you to rush out of bed, too."

I stretch, my body humming with a low-level of desire, already mildly turned on. "I'll be up in a few minutes," I answer. I reach out and run a hand gently over his leg.

"Coffee'll be ready soon." He watches me, his face so filled with emotions that I don't know what to do with myself.

"Hey, ummm, I don't really have anything to wear."

His eyes twinkle mischievously. "Not my problem, babe."

"Chandler," I whine playfully.

He gives me another kiss. "T-shirts and stuff are in the second drawer," he whispers. "Help yourself to whatever you need. I think I have a spare toothbrush hanging around somewhere, too, so I'll see if I can find that for you." Katie lets out a loud noise and he grins at me. "I better go see to her majesty. Seriously, though, feel free to hang around in bed for a while. We'll just be going about our business." He gives my knee a squeeze and stands, looking at me wistfully before he leaves the room. I hear him talking to the baby a moment later and my eyes drift shut. She makes happy noises, chattering softly.

God, I could get used to this. Waking up next to Chandler is like a religious experience. Our bodies fit against each other so perfectly. We actually held each other all night, too. Even in his sleep, he's affectionate, and I love it.

I hate the idea of going back to my apartment tonight and sleeping alone.

My forehead furrows and my eyes open slowly—I realize I can hear Chandler out in the kitchen, so I must have drifted off for a few minutes. I don't want to sleep alone. I want to have Chandler next to me, preferably every night. I mean, I'm not looking to move in with him, but being somewhere that's not near him seems kind of horrible.

Maybe that's my morning after clinginess kicking in.

I sit up with a sigh, my eyes growing wide as I look around. While we certainly didn't do anything outrageous last night—all the furniture is in one piece—our clothing is actually everywhere. My dress is in a ball in the corner, his pants are tangled and twisted near the window, and my bra actually managed to land on a lamp, dangling there innocently.

It's kind of impressive.

I swing my feet off the bed and stretch again, suddenly very aware of my complete lack of clothing, though I try to ignore it. I stand and check the floor, finding yesterday's underwear near his bedroom door. I wince as I take a few steps—my hips and thighs are a little sore, and my knees are actually shaking a bit. I make a face as I pull on the panties, but since I really need to shower I don't suppose dirty underwear will make much of a difference. As I move over to his dresser my feet tangle in another piece of clothing and I can't help but grin. His dress shirt from last night. I grab it off the floor and pull it over my shoulders, inhaling deeply as his scent hits me.

The button-down shirt look is pretty much guaranteed to drive him wild. I close enough buttons to not be obscene and make my way to the bathroom connected to his room. Sure enough, a brand new toothbrush is waiting for me on the edge of the sink. After I pee I check out my face in the mirror. My makeup isn't too terribly smeared, though my eyes are bordering on raccoon-like at the moment. The fact that he could look me in the eye and tell me he loves this morning when _this_ was staring back at him is either a testament of his acting skills, or he's suffering from post-coital bliss, too.

I brush my teeth and scrub my face, then run my fingers through my hair to try to make some sense out of it. Yeah, I definitely need to shower at some point, but I suppose that'll have to wait until I get home.

The smell of coffee hits me and I sigh with happiness. I nearly float out to the rest of his apartment and smile when I see Chandler standing in the living room, bopping Katie on his hip. She laughs and screeches, sounding completely thrilled that her father is in such a playful mood this morning.

He looks up and grins at me, slowing his movements down to a gentle sway. "Good morning again. You look _fantastic_."

I knew the shirt would get to him. I walk over to him and stand on tiptoe, putting a hand on Katie's back as I stretch up to kiss him. "Good morning again to you, too." I plant a kiss on the baby's head. "Good morning, sweetheart." I wander over to the coffee maker and try to behave nonchalantly, as if this is what happens every morning.

I hear Katie start to fuss but before I can turn around, Chandler calls out to me. "Hey, Mon?"

"Hmm?" I pour my coffee and turn, nearly dropping the mug in the process as Katie stretches her arms out to me, almost falling out of her father's grasp as she tries to get to me. "Geez, Katie, be careful," I tell her as I put the coffee back on the counter before gathering her in my arms. "What's going on?" I ask her softly as she cuddles into me, one hand grabbing for my hair.

"I think she's happy to see you," Chandler answers, putting a hand on my hip as he steps closer. "I told you it was confusing for her for you not to be here in the mornings."

I stroke her hair gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Do you miss Monica when she's not here?" She makes a tiny noise against my neck and I look up at Chandler. "She's killing me."

"She's really happy right now," he whispers to me, tilting his head a little to see her face. "We're all happy to have Monica here this morning." His lips meet mine and I shift Katie to my hip, one hand coming up to gently hold Chandler's face. I feel him move a little closer, both hands now on my hips and pulling me toward him.

"Well, I know _I'm_ happy to have Monica here this morning."

We jump apart, startled, to find Joey sitting at the kitchen table with a big grin on his face. "Hey, Joe," Chandler drawls, maneuvering me so that I'm standing in front of him to hide his burgeoning erection. "Didn't know you were home."

"I can see that," he answers, raking his eyes over my scantily clad form. I've spent enough time with the guy over the last couple of months to know that he's a very sexually-oriented human being, but also that he loves Chandler like a brother. If he's checking me out, I know that it's either just a habit, or to make the both of us feel uncomfortable. I tug the edge of Chandler's shirt down and Joey winks at me. "Cute shirt, Mon."

I feel myself start to blush so I bury my face against Katie, who squeaks in surprise. Chandler makes a disgusted noise. "Knock it off, dude."

He holds his hands up. "Fine, fine. You two have fun at the, uh, the…thing last night?"

"It was an anniversary party," Chandler answers, reaching around me to tickle Katie's side. "But yeah, we had a good time. Everyone loved Miss Thing, obviously."

"Naturally," Joey says, smiling at the baby. "Was this your first time meeting the parents?"

"It was." Chandler leans down and kisses my cheek before sliding out from behind me and into one of the chairs. "I don't think they hated me too much."

"I don't think they hated you at all," I correct. Katie leans back from me a little, her eyes wide as she gently smacks her hands on my chest. "Though I'm sure we'll be hearing from them soon about spending one-on-one time with them."

"Bring it on," Chandler answers with a yawn, his arms going over his head in a big stretch. Katie laughs at him, the noises he's making amusing her.

"Hey, are you hungry?" I ask, suddenly eager for something to do.

"Starving," Joey answers. "You cook?"

"Do you not listen to anything I tell you?" Chandler asks, looking terribly put upon.

"Not really. I remember you telling me that you were dating a hot chick, and I thought you were lying. Then I finally met the hot chick and _damn_. Haven't heard a word since."

"Thanks, man," Chandler answers, rolling his eyes at me. "She's a chef. She actually cooks for a living. I'm kind of surprised that you didn't catch on to that earlier. You know all those leftovers you've been eating?" Joey nods, smiling at Katie. "Monica's. You've been scarfing down her food and you never even knew it."

Joey sits up straight suddenly, giving me his most winning smile. "Hey, yeah, so, if you want to make breakfast, I won't say no to that."

I roll my eyes and walk over to the fridge. "What do you guys even have?" I open the door and peek in. "What do you think, Katie?"

I feel a tug at the back of my shirt. "Hey, Joey. Stop trying to check out my girlfriend's ass."

"Excuse me for living," he answers, sounding offended.

"Hey, how about eggs?" I ask, trying to change the subject from my lack of clothing. "You've got the stuff in here for either omelets or some sort of scramble."

"If someone else is making it, I'm eating it," Joey answers.

"Either sounds great to me, hon," Chandler answers, his fingers tickling the back of my leg.

I pull the carton out of the fridge and kiss the baby's cheek. "Katie, do you eat eggs? Does she eat eggs?"

"Uhhh." Chandler suddenly looks sheepish. "I don't know. I don't really make eggs ever. I know she eats cereal. Joey, have you ever given her eggs over at your parents' place?"

Joey shrugs his shoulders, his eyes wide. "Should I know that?"

"Yeah, kinda. I mean, you should have some idea of what Katie's eating so we'll know if she has a bad reaction to it."

"How about," I interrupt, shaking my head at Katie, who tries to shake hers back at me, "if I make a little bit that doesn't have anything extra in it? That way we can see if she likes them."

"My girlfriend is gorgeous _and_ a genius," Chandler answers.

"Just trying to keep everyone in order," I whisper to Katie as I put the eggs on the counter. "Your turn," I tell Chandler as I pass her off, getting a few vegetables and some cheese out of the fridge.

"Hi, sweetie pie," he says, and I turn around to see him kissing her belly. "Are you excited? You get to have your first egg!" She whines quietly, twisting against him a little. "What's the matter, baby?"

One of her little hands reaches out, so I grab it and give it a little kiss. "Just a few more minutes for breakfast," I assure her. "We'll eat soon, I promise."

Chandler reaches over and grabs her cup off the counter, holding it to her lips. I glance at them over my shoulder as I go about prepping breakfast, and Katie looks none-too-happy. Her bottom lip pokes out as her face scrunches up. Chandler tries jostling her, but she makes pathetic noises, letting her dissatisfaction be known to us all.

"She okay?" Joey asks; out of the corner of my eye I see him reach out to give her belly a little poke.

"Dude, I have no idea. Katie, just calm down," he says to her, kissing her forehead.

My heart goes out to her. It must be awful to be that age, at least sometimes. She's to the point where she can understand a lot of words and ideas, at least simple ones, but she can't express herself. It's got to be frustrating as hell. I finish chopping the onions and peppers and bend down so I'm face to face with her. "Hi, Katie. Everything's okay, I promise."

Her big, blue eyes blink at me; she snuffles a bit but her face starts to clear a little. I shrug and turn back to the stove, tossing the vegetables into a pan.

And Katie wails. I look at her again, and this time her face is crumpled in sheer despair, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. Chandler stands up and bounces her back and forth, rubbing her back gently as he finds a pacifier in the dish drainer. "Oh, honey, honey, honey. It's okay. It'll be okay. Hey—do you want to see what Monica's doing?" He stands at my side, trying to keep her a safe distance from the stovetop. "See? She's cooking. Doesn't that look yummy?"

I look at the two of them in sympathy, and Katie holds out her hand again. I lean over and give her a kiss. "We'll play soon. Does that sound good?" She manages to grab hold of my hair, balling it up in her fist. I guess not. "Ow," I say calmly, trying to get _her_ to calm. "Ow, ow, ow. Let go, Katie." Joey appears at my other side, manning the veggies while I grab Katie, pulling her close to me. I cringe as she tugs at my hair a few times before Chandler manages to get her hand loose, but at least Katie's tears have started to subside. "All better?" I ask her, giving her a kiss on the top of her head before I pass her back to Chandler.

He gives me a look as she starts to cry again, spitting out the pacifier, and I just shrug helplessly. "I think she just wants her Monica," he tells me.

"I—I can't hold her and cook at the same time," I mumble, turning back to the stove. I have no idea why she's doing this _now_ , or even at all. It's not unusual for her to be clingy or whiny, but it's usually because she wants her father. There have even been moments when she's around people she's less familiar with when she'll cling to me, but that's usually only if Chandler's not around. But between last night with her grabbing for me in front of my parents and this morning, I can't imagine Chandler being happy about this at all. He _has_ to think I'm spending too much time with her. He _has_ to. Love me or not, it's a whole different ballgame when his own child only wants to be soothed by me.

Katie wails again and Chandler starts to get that frantic look he gets when she does this around other people. "Please, Mon? I don't know what else to do. She's never done this before."

"Okay. Fine, okay." I wipe my hands off and hold them out to her. She falls into me instantly and even though her breath comes in great, heaving gasps, her tears start to abate.

Yeah—this can't be good.

I angle her away from the stove and grab the spatula from Joey, who tries to slink back to his seat quietly.

"What can I do to help?" Chandler asks, nodding toward the food as he reaches out to stroke Katie's head.

"I don't know," I whisper. My own eyes fill with tears so I try not to look at him.

Chandler gives me a worried look. "Hey; calm down," he tells me softly, putting his hand on my waist.

"How am I supposed to calm down?" I hiss. "Your own daughter just…" I don't even know how to describe it. "She threw a hissy fit until…"

"Monica, it's okay."

"Jesus, Chandler, you don't have to be so laid back about _everything_." I grab the bowl of eggs off the counter and pour them in with the vegetables—making sure to leave a little so that I can make plain ones for the baby—the _hiss_ as they hit the pan more satisfying than it ought to be.

"Well, what do you want me to say?" he snaps, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you want me to get upset because my baby likes my girlfriend? Because I'm not. She's just in a mood today. Monica, she _loves_ you. Don't pick a fight with me because you're freaked out."

I push the eggs around and look at Katie who, despite our arguing, seems perfectly relaxed right now. Her little hand has found its way under my shirt, her tiny fingers clinging to me. She lets out a sigh and watches the food cook. "I know you said me not being here in the mornings was confusing her, but I think this has made it worse," I finally mumble.

"Don't do that," he answers immediately. "Don't pull away from me." He looks over my shoulder and I hear Joey clear his throat before he pushes his chair back from the table.

"I'm just gonna watch cartoons," he says, the TV blasting a few moments later.

"Monica," Chandler says, reaching over to turn the heat down on the burner, "I know a lot has happened in the last twenty-four hours, and most of it has been a really big deal, but don't go searching for an excuse to run away."

"But Katie—"

"Is just doing what she does best, which is be a pain in the ass. She's good at it; she's adorable and beautiful and a giant, perfect pain. And she's happy to see you; she's just not used to you being here when she wakes up. I _want_ my daughter to like being around you because it's certainly better than the alternative."

"Chandler…what if something happens with us?" I shudder at the thought, but it's a very real possibility.

"I intend to keep you around for a very long time. It doesn't matter how hard you push me away or how far you run, I'm always going to go after you." I open my mouth to protest but he cuts me off. " _Always_. Monica, I love you. That's not something I say easily or frequently. You're the best thing that could happen to me and Katie, and I won't give you up without a fight. So you can do all of your usual things and it doesn't matter because I'll still be here. _We_ will still be here."

I push the eggs around in the pan again, taking a few deep breaths. I really need to get myself under control. I don't know why I keep freaking out this way. Maybe I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop—it always does. Everything about being with Chandler feels too good to be true, and it doesn't seem like there's any way it could last. I don't know how much longer he could possibly want to put up with my crap.

Except…he's been putting up with it for four months now. Granted, that's nowhere near a lifetime, but every time I try to give him an out or find a way to let him go, he fights for me. He fights with me, too, but he hasn't given up. When will my head let me accept that he's not interested in going anywhere if I'm not with him? Why won't I let myself just be happy? He wants to be with me, he makes every effort to keep me around…maybe I should stop fighting it so hard. And if his daughter is in a mood where she wants to be around me, then maybe I should just accept it and the fact that I'm part of _her_ life now, too. God knows that I love her so much that I couldn't possibly begin to explain it. Maybe I should stop fighting with him and start fighting _for_ him, too.

"Say it again," I whisper finally.

He wrinkles his forehead in confusion, and I can see the gears in his head turning as he tries to figure out what he's supposed to repeat. "I love you," he answers.

I dump cheese on the eggs and move the pan off the burner before turning to him. "I love you, too." He smiles at me, his grin growing wider until I nudge him with my elbow, jostling Katie in the process. "Now get me a clean pan so I can cook for your daughter."

He rubs his chest but starts digging through the cupboard for me. "So demanding," he mumbles playfully, but I ignore him.

"We're going to cook some eggs, sweetie. Are you excited? It's going to be yummy." Katie reaches out, patting at my face, so I take that as a "yes."

* * *

*A/N…it's all over now, guys. You've told me that you like my super long notes at the end, so you have no one to blame but yourselves. You've just given me free reign to ramble on endlessly.

So, the quote at the top is actually from Johnny Cash when he was asked to define paradise. To him, it was drinking coffee with his wife. Do any of my overseas friends know who this dude is? I'm not a huge fan of his, but some of his stuff isn't bad.

The part in here with Katie freaking out and reaching for Monica when she sees her in the morning? That's from my original story concept a million years ago, too. That was one of those ideas that has stuck with me since then, so I wanted to make sure to put it in here.

I think I'm close to 300 reviews for this thing, so woohoo! I'm just stuck right now, though. I'm so close to the end, and I'm having trouble with some of the not-quite-the-end stuff. I should probably just go ahead and write the part I can see clearly in my head so I can make room for more stuff, but I think it's going to be tricky. Spoiler alert—the last couple of chapters are going to feature music. There's one part I don't even know if I'll be able to pull off—it would really need to be filmed more than written—but the idea popped into my head some time back and I can't shake it. I'll let you guys know at the top of a chapter if there's a song that'll enhance the experience for you, though, I promise.

I've been dangerously close to coming out of my own little closet in that I keep thinking I should just post a picture of my actual self on Twitter. Crazy, right? Really, that means I should probably just go ahead and delete the account for good. It used to be fun, but one bad apple ruins the whole bunch. I love being able to connect with you guys, but…who knows? I'll think about it, I suppose.


	21. Chapter 21

_Have you ever met a woman that inspires you to love? Until your every sense is filled with her? You inhale her. You taste her. You see your unborn children in her eyes and know that your heart has at last found a home. Your life begins with her, and without her it must surely end._

* * *

I rest my chin on my hand, watching Katie squish scrambled eggs between her fingers. She didn't seem too terribly impressed with them, making a face each time they hit her tongue, but she didn't immediately reject them, either, so I consider it a success.

Joey wolfed his down, barely coming up for air as he laughed at his cartoons, though he did manage to mumble a "thanks" in my general direction. Chandler and I attempted to be civilized and sat at the table, and feeding the baby became much more entertaining than feeding ourselves. She also made a great segue for the two of us as we came back from our latest tiff, trying and succeeding to recapture the dreamy atmosphere from earlier this morning.

At first, we fed her little forkfuls of food—half the time, she looked at us like we were nuts even though her mouth would fall open to accept it. Then we put some on her tray so that she could try to do it herself with even less success. She clumsily grabs handfuls and brings them toward her face, though most of it winds up anywhere but in her mouth.

"You have egg in your hair, Katie," I tell her as I try to brush it out.

"I swear to God, she's a tiny drunk person," Chandler says, scooping egg off the floor and depositing it into a napkin. "No one _but_ a drunk would think to rub eggs all over their head."

"Maybe she's just highly creative, or her IQ is off the charts and she's doing something the rest of us mere mortals are decades from understanding."

He cuts his eyes to me. "Sure," he answers, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That has to be it. It has nothing to do with her complete lack of fine motor skills."

"Of course not." I smile at Katie, who grins at me as a piece of egg falls out of her mouth. "You're a little genius, aren't you, sweetheart?"

Not surprisingly, she doesn't answer. She smacks her hand against her tray, pulverizing her food into nothing. I look up and see Chandler smiling, leaning in toward me over the high chair. I meet him for a lingering kiss, pressing my forehead to his before settling back in my chair.

"Love you," he says softly, making my heart flutter.

I sigh and lean back, crossing my legs. His eyes grow wide as the shirt rides up and exposes a lot of my thigh. "Why am I still so horny?" I whisper, making him nearly choke on his coffee.

He slouches down in his chair, stretching his leg out so that his foot can reach mine. "Because I'm just that good at it?"

"Mmmm," I answer, memories of last night coursing through me, igniting sparks all over my body. "That's probably it."

He snickers and I lift an eyebrow at him. "Sorry. Just never had anyone stroke my ego like that. If I'm any good at it, it's only because of you."

I lean toward him, winking. "I'd like to stroke something else." His face turns red and he squirms in his seat. I recline against the chair again with a sigh. "I have to go home soon."

"What? Why?" he asks, sounding worried.

"Because I'm so gross right now. I need to shower—"

"I have a shower here, babe."

"Plus, and I know this doesn't bother you, and it sure as hell doesn't seem to be bothering Joey, but I kind of don't have anything to wear." I look over at his roommate, who's nodding at me in approval. I just roll my eyes and shake my head.

"But...you'd come back, right? I mean, after you go home and shower and change, you'll come back over?"

I feel a grin spreading across my face. "Is that an invitation?"

"Hell yes, it is." He leans forward, his hand reaching for mine. I immediately slide my fingers through his. "And, maybe…I don't know, maybe you could bring some clothes over."

"You really want me to stay tonight?" I swear, if my smile gets any bigger, it's going to split my face in half.

"I want you to stay as often as possible."

I glance at Katie, who seems completely unconcerned with the adults around her, and slide out of my chair. A moment later I ease myself onto his lap, wiggling my hips against his for just a moment before I wrap my arms around his neck. "You may regret that offer."

"Not a chance."

"You sure? Because it's not so bad for one morning, but once you see this face staring back at you a few days in a row—"

He kisses me suddenly, cutting me off. "I'll just want to see it even more," he finally answers. "So, bring clothes. Pack a bag if you want. I want to fall asleep with you and wake up with you. Frequently."

"And do a few other things, I hope."

He's barely able to kiss me around his grin. "Yeah, that, too."

I shift on his lap again, feeling him pushing against me. "Jesus, are you always hard?" I breathe into his ear. He shudders, tightening his grip on me.

"Lately, yes. It's your fault."

I kiss him again, running my hands through his hair. One of his hands moves to my knee, sliding under the shirt. His fingers trace up my thigh, my side, stroking up my back, and I break away from him, gasping. "We're in the kitchen," I whisper.

"Want to go back to bed?"

I smile, kissing him again. "Tempting, but I really do need to shower."

"I have a shower here," he repeats.

"I know, but I don't have any—" He gives me a look—eyebrow raised, head tilted—and understanding dawns on me. "Oh," I answer with a giggle.

"You want to?"

I nod as I ask, "What about Katie?"

"No problem." He stands quickly, grabbing me to stop me from falling. "Hey, Joe; would you keep an eye on Katie for me for a few minutes?"

"Huh? Sure," he answers from his prone position on the couch—the same couch Chandler and I have been using as our own personal orgasm testing ground. I stifle a giggle at the thought as Chandler pulls Katie out of her high chair, giving her face and head a few quick wipes before plopping her on Joey's stomach. Katie, for her part, seems to have gotten over her clinginess from earlier. She tumbles forward against Joey's chest, grabbing a fistful of his t-shirt and shoving it in her mouth. Chandler grabs my hand and pulls me away as Joey blinks a few times, looking confused. "Hey. Why am I—"

"Thanks, man," Chandler calls as he pulls me into his bedroom, pushing the door shut behind us. He pushes me up against it as I laugh into his mouth, our lips fused together as his hands bunch the shirt up under my armpits. I hook my leg over his hip, desperately trying to climb him, but instead I wind up practically dry-humping him.

Not the worst of fates.

I give up, though, and instead push at his pajama pants, only getting them a little off his hips from this angle. "Get naked already," I growl. I have no need for foreplay at this point.

"Yes, ma'am," he says, pulling away from me. He grabs the back of his shirt and yanks it over his head, dropping it to the floor. His pants follow a moment later, leaving him wonderfully, gloriously naked.

And completely, probably painfully, aroused.

I smile at him and he groans. "Why do you look so hot in my shirt?"

"It's a girl thing," I answer with a shrug. I tug at the top couple of buttons, watching his eyes dilate as more skin is revealed to him. I take a couple of steps toward him, kissing him lightly before I duck away. I stand in the doorway of the bathroom and bite my lip. "I'm so very dirty," I tell him matter-of-factly. "Maybe you can help me."

He groans again as I slide into the bathroom, and I can't believe I actually said something like that. I've never said anything like that in my life, but…he seems to like it.

I reach into the tub and start adjusting the water when I feel his hands grazing up my thighs. He hooks his fingers in my panties and slides them slowly down my legs. I step out of them and turn around, my chest actually heaving as I gaze down at him. The corner of his mouth quirks up and I know what he's going to do a moment before he does it.

His head disappears under the hem of my shirt, his mouth making contact with me, and I yelp. My hips thrust forward and my back arches, nearly knocking me off balance. I grab at the walls, scrambling for purchase for a few moments before I push myself forward and grab onto his shoulder, digging my fingernails into his skin.

His hands slide up me, grabbing onto my breasts and I hear a ringing in my ears for a moment. I can't see anything he's doing, and that makes this all the more erotic.

I gasp, my hips undulating against his ministrations and I feel my stomach tighten. My eyes fly open as I clutch at him, trying to get his attention. "Chan—Chandler," I pant. "I'm going…I'm going to…ohhhhhhh, God…" His arms slide back down, wrapping under my ass to keep me in place, and his tongue does things to me that I'd never be able to explain. "I'm…I, I, ahhh, ahhh, AHHHH!" I shriek as my orgasm hits me like a ton of bricks, quick and powerful and staggering. I jerk against him, almost weeping as I moan.

His mouth is gone suddenly and I try to look down at him. He looks so incredibly smug that I'd smack him if he didn't have every right in the world to feel that way. He stands, pulling the shirt with him as he goes and tosses it toward the laundry basket. I wrap my arms around his shoulders as our lips meet, my legs far too unsteady to hold me up on my own. I smile into his mouth, euphoria washing over me. I want to feel ashamed that it happened that fast, that he can do this to me so quickly, but I just can't. The way I figure it, it means I get to have more orgasms, and that feels like a win all the way around.

He pulls away and steps into the shower, turning on the overhead spray before he holds out his hand to me. I step in tentatively behind him as my heart hammers. Sure—I've done the shower thing with a boyfriend before, and it's been kind of fun. Maybe not completely satisfactory for all parties involved, but still fun. But this is going to be different. There's absolutely no doubt about it in my mind.

We wrap around each other, kissing slowly. I push myself gently against his trapped erection and he moans into my mouth. I capture his bottom lip with my teeth and give it a little tug. His fingers dig into my ass as he pulls me closer. Carefully, he turns us so I'm directly under the spray. I lean my head back to let the water soak through my hair; he gently massages my scalp, sending shivers down my spine.

He untangles himself from me and bends down, grabbing a bottle off the edge of the tub. A few moments later he's massaging my scalp again, the shampoo surprisingly girly-smelling. I crack an eye open and lift my eyebrow, but he just shrugs. "Makes my hair soft." He takes some of it and runs it through his hair, grinning. I lean forward and let my forehead rest against his chest. One of my hands drifts between us and I start to stroke him gently.

Dear God, I really love the way he feels. The whole concept of erections fascinates me, and aside from the fact that he's horribly turned on while I'm doing it, Chandler doesn't seem to mind my exploring him. So far, it's mostly been sight unseen, but I've learned a lot that way.

Shudders run through his body and he twists away. I open my eyes again to see him breathing heavily, suds running down from his head. With shaking hands, he tilts my head back, letting the shampoo wash off before grabbing a washcloth and a bar of soap.

"Really?" I ask, feeling a chuckle work through me. "That's the best you can do? You don't have body wash or something?"

"I'm a _guy_ , Monica, and a dad. Sometimes I'm lucky to remember to bathe myself at all."

He starts to run the cloth over me, and I'm surprised that it doesn't feel too bad. "Well, remind me to bring some of my stuff with me." I shiver pleasantly as he gently massages my breasts. "I'm assuming you don't mind if I bring shower gel?"

He presses a kiss to my jaw line. "Like I said before—whatever keeps you here." He gently moves the washcloth over my skin, rubbing in gentle circles as he massages the soreness out of my muscles. He drops down to his knees as he washes my legs, very intent on his mission.

My body shakes for a moment and I brace myself against the wall, my eyes falling shut. The look on his face is too much. It's so tender and full of love that I almost can't handle it.

He presses a kiss to my stomach then lets his lips start to trail downward. I feel myself start to quiver before I carefully push him away. I know what he was going to do, and I don't think I can handle it again right now.

He smiles and takes my hips, gently turning me around. He starts working the backs of my legs and I hear him say, "You have a cute ass, too. Did you know that?"

I peek at him over my shoulder, and he's looking at me reverently. I sigh as his hands move over me and I melt under his touch. His hands feel like magic. His mouth joins in, following anywhere his hands go, and I feel like I could fall apart. He starts in on my back, his fingers finding muscles that I didn't know were sore and kneading them carefully.

I turn suddenly and wrap myself around him, kissing him fervently. I take the washcloth from him and he moans in protest. "I don't think I can handle this," he warns.

I lean into his ear, flicking my tongue over the lobe. "I have faith in you." I wiggle out of his arms and grab the soap, making sure to get the washcloth good and sudsy. I scrub his chest, paying carefully attention to the marks I left digging my nails into him last night. I press gentle kisses to each one, feeling him shudder beneath my touch. I work my way lower, over his stomach where the muscles twitch in anticipation. I look up at him as I run the cloth over his erection, and his eyes roll back in his head. "Monica," he groans.

I lean forward and kiss his neck, his throat bobbing beneath my lips as he swallows heavily. "Another day?" I ask, feeling him nod. I don't know why I'm so eager to go down on him; it may be a talent of mine, that doesn't mean it's always my favorite part of the process. But he's just been making me feel _so good_ , and I want to return the favor. I want to do for him what he does to me.

I turn him around and he ducks his head to avoid the spray. I trace my fingers over his back carefully, planting kisses on the marks I left there, too. "I'm sorry," I whisper, sliding my arms around his waist.

"For what?" he asks, and I'm surprised he could hear me.

"It looks like I did a number on you last night."

His hands cover mine, squeezing. "I don't care. Last night was perfect." He turns around suddenly, pulling me against him. "There's not a thing I would change about it, so whatever marks you've left back there, well, I'm good with it." He bends down to kiss me, one of his hands skimming down my side until he grabs under my knee and hooks it around his waist. I cling to him as I stand on tiptoe.

"I haven't washed your back yet," I breathe, our faces so close I can see the water droplets hanging off of his eyelashes. His eyes are dark with desire, his breathing is growing labored, and even though I know this position is precarious at best, I want him more right now than I ever have before.

His lips chase the water sluicing down my face but he lets go of my leg. I slide it down him slowly and he turns once more. I take a deep, shuddery breath and stoop down—I didn't even realize that I'd dropped the cloth. I soap it up again and start rubbing his legs. I feel the muscles in his calves twitch but he says nothing, patiently letting me clean him.

This is _definitely_ better than any other shower stuff I've done before.

I move carefully over him, making sure to wipe down as much as possible. I drape the cloth over the edge of the tub and dig my fingers into his back, working out the sore muscles I find there. He moans in appreciation and I can feel his body relaxing beneath me.

Is this what love is? Honest, true, real love? I don't care about myself at the moment—all I want is for him to feel good. I've loved before—I know that much—but with Chandler, it feels like so much more. His happiness, Katie's happiness, matter so much more than my own, but just the fact that they exist makes me happy.

I think I've gone to a place way beyond love.

I stand up on tiptoe, holding onto his shoulders. "I love you," I whisper into his ear. It may not be enough, but it's all I've got. They're the only words that I have.

He turns back to me again, pushing my wet hair out of my face. "I love you, too," he answers, his smile dazzling. "Now how about sex in the shower?"

I burst out laughing, draping my arms over his shoulders. "So, you're just telling me what I want to hear to get into my pants?"

"You know it," he answers. "So…"

"Well, I guess that'd be all right. Since you love me and all."

He gives me a kiss and backs me up a couple of steps until I hit the tile wall. "I'll try not to get too crazy in here," he promises. "I don't want us to fall and break something. Ooh! Turn around!"

I press another kiss to his lips, then his throat and his chest before I turn, bracing my hands against the wall. I feel him pushing against me and I moan. I rock my hips back a little, creating some friction. His hands slide up me, cupping my breasts, and he thrusts against me slowly. He leans over me, his lips soft against my shoulder blades. He pushes my hair out of the way, brushing it over my shoulder, and skims his hand down my stomach. I push against him a little harder and I feel his erection slide between my legs. I gasp as I rock against him, my arms shaking as I hold myself up.

"God, you're sexy," I manage to say as I look at him over my shoulder. He really is, even more so with the water running in wild rivulets down his chest.

He shakes his head at me, smiling crookedly. "I don't hold a candle to you, babe." I reach a hand down between my thighs, putting my hand over him as he rubs against me. Even with the water running over us, I can feel the heat coming off of him in waves. I shift my hips a little, putting myself into position, and he freezes. "Shit!"

"What's wrong?" I ask, stilling my motions.

"God damn it. I don't have a condom."

I laugh a little, relieved _that's_ the issue. "I don't think they really hold up in the shower, honey."

"Well, then—"

I stand up, pressing my back to his front. I start moving my hand over his erection again. He shudders as I whisper, "I'm still wearing my diaphragm." That's probably really wrong, too. After this session, I'm going to have to sanitize the hell out of that thing.

"I don't know that it's enough," he answers, though his hands start massaging my breasts again.

"I know we doubled up last night in deference to your super sperm," I say, and he chuckles, "but I've used this method for years and it hasn't failed me yet." I tilt my head to the side and look up at him, sliding a hand to the back of his head. "But whatever you want to do." I pull him down to my lips and his arms completely wrap around me.

"I want you so bad," he mumbles against my mouth. I remain quiet as we kiss, though my hips continue to move in small circles against him. I understand his reluctance, and even though I think I will actually die if we don't have sex soon, I can also wait the ten seconds it'll take us to run out to his bedroom and go for it there. I'm not terribly picky about the location.

He pulls away a fraction, his face so close that I nearly have to cross my eyes to see him properly. He gives me a little nod and I immediately resume my position, bracing my hands on the shower wall. He taps my thigh and I look back at him. "Put your legs together," he says, his voice low and raspy.

Confused, I do as he asks. He braces his legs on either side of mine, and I can feel him at my entrance. He grabs my hips, keeping me in place, and he pushes into me slowly.

"Ohhhhhhh!" That's intense. The friction is unbelievable. My body shakes and I push my arms against the wall, desperately trying to keep myself under control. Women may be capable of multiple orgasms, but that doesn't mean I want to explode every time he touches me.

He grabs my hips and thrusts, making every part of my body tingle.

God, maybe I do.

He pulls out of me slowly, the tip of him just barely teasing me and I bite my lip. I wiggle my hips a little in anticipation just before he slams back into me.

"Ohhhh. Oh, God! Ohhhhhh!" My head falls forward as he drives into me. He doesn't seem to be interested in wasting any more time. I really don't think I have much time to spare, anyway, not with the way I can feel an orgasm building all the way down in my toes.

I moan again, unable to contain myself. I press my face against my arm, biting the skin as he pushed into me with short, quick strokes. "Monica," he grunts. "God, _yes_." His hands leave my hips and slide up my body. I feel his fingers run down my arms until they twine with mine. Gently, he wraps our arms around me and eases us into a standing position.

"AHHHH! Chandlerrrrr!" His arms tighten and our hips thrust against each other in tiny circles. The feeling is unbelievable and insanely intense.

His lips attach to my neck, his teeth nipping at my skin, and I turn my head to press kisses to the side of his face. His hips move faster and I tighten my grip on his hands.

One of his arms starts to move, taking mine with it, sliding over my breasts and down my stomach. My body nearly sparkles with anticipation. I push my head back against his shoulder, gasping for air, thrusting back against him faster. Our joined hands slide down over my hips and I squirm. He kisses my shoulder and our fingers slide in between my thighs.

"Oh, God! Yes! Yes! Yes! Moreyesyesyes!" My eyes roll back in my head at the sensation. I wasn't going to need any assistance at all for this round, but I've very quickly learned that I'm never going to refuse Chandler's hands on my body.

Our fingers move in tandem. He breathes heavily in my ear. My entire body begins to vibrate.

"Come on, baby," he tells me as he gasps. "I've got you, come on."

I push my hips back against him, squeezing my thighs together as our hands work me into a frenzy. As much as I need the release, this build up is almost too good to lose.

I untangle the arm that's still wrapped around me and reach down, grabbing his hip. I pull at him, making him move faster. I know he's holding out for me. I squeeze my internal muscles around him and he yells out. His hips move faster, moving us until I'm pressed up against the wall. His fingers dance across me and his free hand slides to my stomach. He peels his back away from me, completely changing the angle.

"That's it," I gasp, feeling him move inside me. "Oh, yes, that's it. Right there." Our fingers rub over me furiously as he pounds me into the wall and I'm lost, actually screaming out as I fly apart. I feel him tense a few moments later, falling over the edge with me. Waves of ecstasy rush over me as I lose all sense of time and space.

His fingers start to ease off me and I push my hand against his, thrusting against him harder. "Don't stop," I demand. "Don't ohhhhhhh yeaaahhhh." A second orgasm hits me, one of the rare occasions where I'm lucky enough to have them coming from different points within me.

"Oh, my God," he moans, sounding completely in awe. I let out a sob as my fingers dig into his leg. My knees buckle for a moment, his arm around me the only thing keeping me upright. I start to feel dizzy. I almost feel like I'm going to pass out. I don't let him stop.

I push my ass back against him, thrusting almost violently. "Please more," I whimper. "More more more."

His head tilts down toward me, his lips chasing mine for a few moments before he captures them. We gasp into each other's mouths and I untangle my fingers from his. He rubs at me frantically and I grasp his forearm, nearly biting off his tongue.

He stops suddenly and I almost scream at him. I pull my lips from his but before I can protest, he says, "Hand cramp."

I start to laugh but he just switches hands, his left one now working at me. "OH!" I yell, the sensation almost completely different for some reason. "GOD!"

He doesn't say anything, but I can hear him breathing in my ear. I tilt my head a little, watching him, and he doesn't even notice me. His eyes are directed down my body, watching me buck and twitch and fall apart in his hands.

My knees buckle again, the feelings he's sending through me so intense that I honestly can't stand on my own right now. I never, ever want this to end.

Somewhere, way in the back of my mind, it occurs to me that it doesn't have to end. We could conceivably be together forever, which, in this moment, doesn't seem like a terrible fate. If it includes sex like this, I'm definitely in.

I gasp and look down my body, too. "Oh, my GOD," I moan, my voice echoing around the room. Seeing him do that to me is too much; I feel the world around me explode. Fireworks actually go off in my head. I jerk against him violently, orgasming so hard that it borders on painful.

I feel his legs bend and he manages to get us onto our knees in the tub. My legs finally fall open, bracketing his as I thrust against him, yelling so loudly that I have to be hurting his eardrums. My body collapses in on itself as I tremble and jerk, wave after wave rushing through me. His fingers rub against me furiously for a few more seconds before he stops completely and I finally go limp, almost falling off his lap. I shudder for a few moments before I start sobbing, endorphins and emotions running rampant through my body.

His arms wrap around me and he pulls me gently against his chest, his fingers stroking against me soothingly. "It's all right," he whispers. "Shhhh. It's all right. I've got you."

My head falls forward as I weep, feeling utterly ridiculous for such a display. I can't control it, though. Aftershocks ripple through me and I moan, burying my face in my hands. "Sorry," I manage to whimper.

He kisses the back of my neck, moving on to my shoulder. "I love you," he whispers.

Of course, that makes me cry even harder.

A few moments later I feel the washcloth on me again, gentle and delicate as he cleans me up, and I can't help but feel immensely touched. "Why…what…" I can't even form a proper question.

"You said it yourself," he tells me softly. "Sex is messy. The absolute least I can do right now is clean up after myself."

I search my mind, but I don't know that any guy before him has ever done that for me. It doesn't seem like it should be a big deal, and maybe once I recover it won't be, but right now, it feels like just about the sweetest thing anyone has ever done.

I force myself to sit up, pressing my back to his chest as I wrap an arm around his neck to hold myself steady. "I love you," I tell him as I press my lips to his, kissing him deeply.

He manages to turn the water off a moment later and we both shiver, though neither of us makes a move to get up. He stretches around me after a few seconds, breaking the kiss, to grab a towel off the rack just outside of the tub. He drapes it over me and squeezes the water out of my hair before gently patting me dry. I lean back and kiss him again, both of us sighing.

"Think you can stand?" he whispers.

"Think _you_ can?" I counter. My legs are still shaking, though not as violently as a few minutes ago, but I can feel him trembling, too. "We're both a mess."

"I can't even begin to express to you how worth it it is." He kisses my neck. "You think it'll always be like this?"

"Oh, God, I hope not." He makes an offended noise and I chuckle. "I wouldn't be able to live through it."

He laughs, pressing a kiss to my temple. "You have a point." He puts his hands on my hips and I force myself to stand, holding onto the wall for support. I feel him stand behind me, his entire body brushing against mine and sending tiny sparks coursing through me.

I turn and wrap an arm around him, my hand going up to sweep aside his wet hair. I get a good look at him and notice that his eyes look…different. Even though I can't manage to really stop crying, I cock my head to the side, stroking his face tenderly. "You all right?"

He smiles shakily, his arms wrapping around me, and he shrugs. "I don't know," he whispers. "This is all so…"

"Intense?" I finish for him, and he nods slightly.

"Yeah, intense, but not in a bad way, you know?"

"I know."

He sighs, pressing his forehead against mine for a moment. "Can I say something absurdly romantic without any judgment?"

"Of course you can. You can say _anything_ to me."

"For the first time ever, I think I feel…whole."

Tears fill my eyes again and I nod. "I know."

"I didn't expect it to feel this way. I never felt like something was missing from me until I met you. I love you so much. Hell, I probably loved you all along."

My heart shatters into a million happy little pieces as a sob bubbles out of me. His fingers come up and tenderly wipe my cheeks. "You're right," I whisper. "You're absolutely right."

"I am?"

"That was _absurdly_ romantic."

He throws his head back and laughs before he very carefully steps out of the tub, holding his hand out to me. After I join him on the bathmat, I grab another towel and wrap it around his waist. He kisses my forehead and pulls his bathrobe off the back of the door, enveloping my shivering body. "What do you say we go check on the kid?"

"Good idea. We should probably check on Katie, too."

He laughs again, pulling me into his arms. "She's usually the one to keep Joey in line, honestly."

"Do you think she's okay? I mean—"

"Honey, I'd be willing to bet you anything that Joey's more traumatized right now than she possibly could be. I'd say even more so because I don't usually illicit noises like that from a woman."

"This is a whole new ball game, isn't it?"

"Damn straight, it is."

"But…you're so _good_ at sex."

"According to you. I suppose that's all that matters, when it comes down to it. At any rate, they're both fine. If Joey doesn't like it, well, tough shit. He can deal. Besides, he probably got an earful last night."

"He was _here_?" I ask, suddenly mortified. "Are you sure?"

"Well, if all the obscene hand gestures and winks he gave me this morning are any indication, I'd say he has a pretty good idea of what we were doing. I'm sure as soon as you leave to go get some clothes and stuff, he'll grill me for all sorts of details."

I cringe, looking away. "Just…don't tell him anything too graphic, okay?"

"Mon, I'm not telling him _anything_. It's not his business. What we did together—what we do together—is ours. It'll probably drive him nuts, but I don't care."

With a sigh, I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him tightly. "I love you so much."

He hugs me back, his arms just as tight, and rests his head on top of mine. "How'd I get so lucky?" he asks softly. "I love you, too."

I will never get tired of those words.

* * *

*A/N…I know I dragged this "day" on forever, but I felt like it had to be told this way. Or something like that. There will be a few more instances where a single day/event is broken down into multiple chapters, just so you know, so if you like it this way, awesome. And if you don't like it this way…well, sorry.

Anyway, I need to say something that's been eating at me, and I apologize in advance because this will probably be long, but I need to get it off my chest. I hate to break it to you, but there's a huge bully in our midst. She's definitely a wolf in sheep's clothing, and hopefully, none of you have dealt with her enough to really have felt her wrath. She's a horrible, mean person who hands out "advice" and "praise" as if she's a teacher looking after naughty students, telling people how and when to write stories as if she's the fanfic god. She actually blamed me when she stopped writing a year ago because I was posting "too much." She told me that my writing was repetitive and that she was "over" my stuff, then had the BALLS to ask who was in my head when I mentioned those comments some time back (sadly, it took a while for me to realize that she was the one I was hearing). She pretends to be your friend unless you happen to call her on her bullshit, then she's "done." She can dish it out, but she sure as hell can't take it in. She's stupidly insecure (which is fine), but wants everyone to believe she's some sort of domestic goddess—the effing stay-at-home-mom to kids who are well into being full-time students because she's too scared to actually go back to work. So insecure about not getting feedback that—poof!—here she is again, and being douche about it, too.

Guys, I know I'm insecure. I know you know I'm insecure. I don't think I've ever made any secret about that, though I like to think that I've gotten better about keeping it to myself as of late. Hell, if I wasn't insecure, I could very easily turn off the reviews on this site and just post my little heart out. But you know what? I fucking own that shit. I know this about myself, and while I'm always working on it, it's probably never going away. But I don't blame other people for it—I'll admit I've probably directed it at you guys once or twice and for that I'm truly sorry (there's been more going on in my personal life than I can begin to explain, and it's not always expressed in the best of ways)—but I don't go to someone who is my "competition" and tell her I'm going to stop writing because she's writing too much. She's just afraid of not being the best, and if she couldn't be the "best," she knew that she could sneak in mean, horrible comments to me from time to time under the guise of advice and friendship. God, this is someone who hadn't posted anything in weeks. WEEKS. Because she can't walk and chew gum at the same time, apparently. Miss I'm-So-Busy-With-Real-Life. Get over yourself. We all have real lives. We all have other stuff to deal with. You're not special. Hell, I have a real, full, busy life that has kept me out of town and away from my computer almost every weekend since August and have somehow managed to write two 300-plus page novels in a year. You make time for the things you NEED to do, for the things that eat at you until you can get them out. Being able to take on more than one thing at a time is called—wait for it—being a grownup! Then the moment I started mentioning that I was going to start a new story, she jumps in, telling me she was just about to post her own story. THEN, when she asked me later if I was irritated with her, and I was HONEST and told her why, she said that she figured it was something like that, then told me that she hadn't done anything shady (if this seems vague, don't worry. I've actually managed to work this situation into this story, so it'll come up eventually) and accused me of taking my insecurities out on her. I told her I didn't want to fight with her, that I'd just been actually busy & couldn't stroke her ego at that moment in time, she said she was done with me. Fine, because she's a horrible person, but she's also a giant hypocrite. I'm sure she has no recollection of doing THE SAME EXACT THING TO ME last December, and I was cool about it. But if I want to do the same thing, I'm not "supporting her." Grow the fuck up, man. Age has nothing to do with being a grownup, and she's prime evidence of that. She's a big fish in a little pond, and that's all she'll ever be because it takes a lot of guts to be a small fish in a big pond. The only way she can move up is by bringing other people down, and I truly hope that the bulk of you have kept your dealings with her cordial but not personal. It's not worth it.

Sorry to have unleashed this on you guys, but I've been holding onto this for about five months now and it needed to be said. It's great that a lot of the people in this community are tight and friends in real life—it's amazing that a show that's been off the air for eleven years has this ability. But not everyone here is your friend. Not everyone is a good person. I hope like hell your experiences with her are better than mine because I don't wish this upon anyone.

Here's the thing; I know I'm not an innocent victim. There have been situations in my life when I've been bullied by people for nothing more than my accent and the grades I got in school, or when people I don't even know start rumors about me, rumors that followed me all the way until I graduated high school—I was innocent in those situations. I'm sure I've been an asshole at times. Hell, I don't mind if someone's an asshole to me, too—you bicker, you get over it. But for someone to be outright mean, to try to beat you down so that she can build herself up, then turn around and tell me that I'm the one taking my insecurities out on her…no. Not anymore. I sat through a three hour meeting with my league the other day, and we spent a good amount of time talking about bullying and if it's actually an issue within our specific group, then I watched my friend stand up, choke back tears, and tell all of us that it IS a problem because it's happened to her, and that the person who'd been doing the bullying was sitting in the room at that moment. She told us what happened, how she nearly hadn't come back after our winter break, and that she'd been keeping it in for almost a year. She had the courage to stand up in front of a group of people and lay herself bare, and she's given me the courage to do this. If someone's bullying you and you don't say something, you're only hurting yourself. Your bully is getting what they want, but inside, you're dying. This isn't the same as standing up in front of a roomful of people, but it's the only format that I have. I'm also taking a page out of the "classy" section of my friend's book and I'm not mentioning any names. We all guessed who her bully is, as I'm sure some of you can probably guess, too, but she never named names. However, if any of you want to know the full story, I'll be happy to share it with you. Remember, bullying isn't just someone physically pushing you around—it's someone who beats you up emotionally, too. Someone who makes you feel about an inch tall so they can feel bigger. These people are assholes. They have ZERO self-esteem and have somehow gotten it in their heads that no one else should have any, either. You guys have been wonderful to me—truly. The support you've shown me should have my self-confidence through the roof, but I've been letting people like her hold me back. Well, not anymore, I hope. I'm going to try to believe you guys when you tell me that I'm good at this, and not listen to that one goddamn voice that tells me that I'm repetitive. Because she's just one person. One tiny, sad, pathetic person who can't admit to the people here that she just needs attention, and was probably quite honestly jealous that I could admit it. Be honest about who you are—don't make excuses about why you're not writing anymore, then prove yourself to be a liar. I hope I'm always writing. I don't know if I'll always write Friends fic—I can't predict the future—but I want to keep writing stories until I can't anymore. If I disappear for a time, it's really only because I'm drawing a blank, not because I don't want to, and certainly not because I'm hiding behind a new job or my kids or whatever excuse I can dream up so that I don't have to admit that I need the feedback as much as the next person. I'm only human. I do need those things. You guys are good for it, so I thank you for that. If I'm quiet on Twitter…well, it's honestly because of this one person. I've been burned, and I don't want to go through it again. It's self-preservation. You all seem to be super-sweet people, with real lives and fears and concerns, and not some mindless automaton that constantly feels the need to tell people who aren't asking how perfect her life is. Generally, if you have to tell people something like that as often as she does, it usually means your life is anything but. So pity this woman. Feel bad for her because she's locked in her own little bubble of denial and self-loathing. I think she's probably worse at being a friend than I ever could be. I don't think she even knows how.

I love you guys, and if you've gotten this far, thank you.


	22. Chapter 22

_*I bet you could sometimes find all the mysteries of the universe in someone's hand.*_

* * *

Chandler pulls a hankie out of his pocket, giving me a half smile. I sniffle and accept it gratefully, dabbing at my face carefully.

"You all right?"

I nod my head, feeling my eyes brim with tears again. "Yeah. Weddings just always make me cry."

"Why? It's just two people promising to love each other forever. What's the big deal?" I look up at him incredulously. He gives me a big, dazzling smile and runs his hand over my shoulders. "I'm kidding. It was a beautiful ceremony, wasn't it?"

"It was gorgeous."

He leans against the wall, pulling me with him. I slide my arms around his waist and close my eyes, listening to this heartbeat. It's hard to hear over the din of the room around us, but if I focus, I can feel the gentle _thump thump thump_ beneath my cheek. One of his hands strokes my hair, the other is wrapped low around my hips. Weddings are a lot of fun, but unless you're part of the bridal party, the downtime between the ceremony and reception can be brutal.

"Do you know anyone here?" I finally ask, opening my eyes to look at the mingling crowd.

"Not really. I don't think Phoebe knows most of these people, and I'd be willing to bed that Mike doesn't, either."

I tilt my head back, giving him an odd look. "Then why are they even here?"

He shrugs, looking a little baffled, too. "Mike's family has money. These are probably all people that his parents invited. I've met his folks a couple of times—they seem…not too bad, I guess, but I suppose they're the ones who felt the need to throw big society wedding. Mike's really down to earth, and Phoebe is definitely more of the flower child sort. Honestly, I'm surprised that we're not out in the woods somewhere, lighting candles or incense or whatever while they get married by some wiccan priestess. They just wanted to be married, and I know that Phoebe said the easiest way to get her future in-laws to like her was to go along with a circus like this."

"Not at my wedding," I say, looking around at all the people mingling around quietly, the waiters weaving through the crowd with trays of hors d'oeuvres and champagne, the linens that just scream money. Not for me. "I don't care if only twenty people are there as long as they're people we know. I don't want a bunch of strangers roaming around just for the sake of filling up a room."

Chandler tightens his arms around my waist and kisses the top of my head. "Noted."

My eyes grow wide and I whip my head around to him. I said "we" and all I really meant was my future husband and me. I didn't mean Chandler specifically.

Of course, he's the only one I can picture in that role but that's not the point.

"Oh, God. That's not what I meant. I just mean that when _I_ get married, I only want to have people there that mean something to me and the groom. Whoever that happens to be."

He just shrugs innocently. "I didn't say anything."

"I just don't want you to think—"

"I don't think anything. I just agree with what you said. I think a wedding should include the people that mean the most to you. Of course, I'm sure my mother would want to invite some of the people in her social circle, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

"Yeah, my parents would probably do the same, and I guess since they'd be the ones paying for it, I wouldn't really be able to say no." I sigh and turn, leaning against him. His arms tighten around my hips and I feel him rest his chin on my head. "Maybe…I don't know, maybe set a cap on the number of people they can invite?"

"Works for me."

I shake my head and slide my fingers between his. The only reason we're talking about this is because we're at a wedding. We haven't talked about it at all before—we haven't even been together for six months yet. I have to admit that it's kind of nice to know that he does have some thoughts on the matter. "I don't think I'd want a black tie affair, either."

"Really?" he asks, tilting his head to see me. "I would have thought that something fancy like that would be your thing."

I shrug, settling against him. "I may be okay with a small wedding if it comes down to it, but I'm still me. I'd want the attention on the bride and not all the other people dressed up."

"Monica, I can assure you that if _you're_ the one in the wedding dress, no one would be able to take their eyes off you."

I bite my lip, trying unsuccessfully to hold back my grin. I look up at him as I shake my head. "You're the biggest ass kisser in the world."

He presses his lips to mine, completely ignoring the hordes of people around us. "Just hoping I can get into your pants tonight."

"I think that's a definite possibility," I whisper, giving him another kiss.

The music kicks up then, and we pull apart, looking toward the grand entrance as a voice filters through the speakers hidden around the room. "May I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Michael Hannigan." The crowd applauds as the doors open and Chandler's blonde friend and her new husband walk in, their smiles going from ear to ear. Neither of them may have wanted a big ceremony, but they still seem completely thrilled to be husband and wife. I can't help but smile broadly at their joy. If they're happy with the end result, that's really all that matters.

The pair makes their way through the crowd, shaking hands with people, smiling and passing around pleasantries. Chandler waves and Phoebe's eyes light up. She waves enthusiastically, nudging Mike. He smiles over at Chandler, too, but crowd pushes them forward. She gives us an apologetic look but Chandler just waves her away. "She'll make her way to us eventually. Let's go find our table."

Easier said than done, though by the time we find it, the newlyweds are preparing for their first dance. We stand as we watch them, Chandler's arms wrapped around me, and the song is halfway over before I realize we're gently swaying back and forth. He kisses my temple and my eyes fall shut for a few moments. I try to focus on the couple, but being wrapped up in my boyfriend is a feeling like none other.

The crowd applauds them again and Mike finds his mother, leading her onto the floor. I give Chandler a confused look as we finally sit down. "I thought the bride dances with her father after the first dance."

He shrugs sadly. "She doesn't have one."

"Ohhh. Poor thing."

"Yeah. She doesn't let it bother her, though. She's very upbeat about things and just rolls with the punches. You'll never meet anyone with a greater joy for life than Phoebe."

From the stories he's told me about one of his oldest friends, I'd have to agree with him completely.

As Mike's dance with his mother dies down, Phoebe takes his hand again, pulling him for another dance, and I can I really see what Chandler means at that moment. Instead of feeling bad for herself for not getting that traditional father/daughter dance, she enjoys the moment with her husband. At the moment, she looks completely blissful, as if there was nowhere else she'd rather be.

My heart does a funny little thing as I look at Chandler out of the corner of my eye. He doesn't seem to notice me as he watches his friends, a peaceful expression on his face, but I can't help but to feel a little envious of Phoebe and Mike. I want to be married, too. I want it so badly.

I want it with Chandler.

It's probably way too soon for that, but I'm not asking for it tomorrow, either. I just know that I want my happily ever after with my very own Prince Charming. I love this guy more than I ever thought possible. I love him more every day. And Katie…I can't imagine my life without her, either. Her happy little face truly makes the world feel like a better place. I don't know that I could love her more if she were my own.

The last thing I want to do is push, though. He's such an amazing guy, but I know he's still cautious because of Corinne. I know he's happy with Katie, and I'm almost completely positive that he's happy to be with me instead of his ex, but the whole thing left him a little gun shy. I don't blame him—I would be, too.

I just have to hope that, one day, if I'm extraordinarily lucky, he'll maybe want to marry me.

I hear a squeal and shake myself out of my thoughts to see Phoebe coming at us, a big grin on her face. Chandler stands, barely able to hold his arms open before she comes crashing into him, jumping up and down in joy. "Hi! Oh, it's so good to see you!"

"Congratulations, Pheebs," he answers, hugging her tightly. "Or, should I say Mrs. Hannigan?"

She squeals again, grabbing onto Chandler's hands. "Can you believe it? Me— _married_?"

"Harder to believe you'd get married in a place like this," he answers teasingly, and she just rolls her eyes.

"I know, I know. But, I got a really nice dress out of it. What do you think?" She twirls around, and I feel my smile match hers. Phoebe really does have a very childlike joy at even the simplest of things, and I love that she's excited about a dress. It's a gorgeous dress, though; silvery gray instead of white with a big, full skirt. She looks every inch like a fairytale princess.

I mentally roll my eyes; I'm definitely on too much of a fairytale kick lately. It's probably from all the stories we read to Katie at night.

"You look great, Pheebs," he answers sincerely. "Hey; I want you to meet someone." He smiles at me and holds out his hand, helping me to my feet.

"Hi, Monica! It's great to _finally_ meet you," she says, grinning broadly, and I give Chandler a confused look.

"It's nice to meet you, too, Phoebe. Chandler's told me a lot about you, especially lately."

"Of course. I'm a very interesting person." I snicker and she pulls out a chair, plopping herself down. She seems completely unconcerned with the fact that there are probably dozens of other people she should be talking to right now, but I suppose that since it's _her_ wedding, she can kind of do whatever she wants. "How is this the first time we've met?" she asks me.

I shrug, sitting down once more, but Chandler answers for me. "I don't know, Pheebs. Maybe it's because you were in Europe for three months."

"Chandler told me your husband was on tour," I say. "That must be exciting."

"Not nearly as exciting as you'd think, but mostly because 'tour' isn't really accurate. He's a pianist in a band with some friends, and they managed to get a few gigs overseas, so, since we're lucky enough to have the means at the moment, we went. The band traveled to a few other places, sometimes getting jobs, sometimes not, and then the other guys had to go home. Mike and I decided to stay and travel while we could. He played piano in a few bars, sometimes for free, sometimes not. He got in with a few locals bands here and there that let him play, but we mostly just took it all in."

"Wasn't it hard to plan a wedding here when you were on a different continent?"

"Not as hard as you'd think. Mike's mom did most of it, and she would have done most of it even if we were here. We knew there were a few things we wanted specifically, so we agreed to basically just say 'yes' to almost everything she suggested. That way, when it came to the bits that would make it our own, we'd get less of a fight. It worked, too." She gives Chandler a look, her eyes dancing. "But I've been back for almost a month—we haven't exactly played catch-up, have we?"

"Hey, I tried," he answers, shaking his head. "I couldn't get any time penciled in with you. Since when do you have such an active social calendar?"

"Since my wedding became a society event. I promise, though, now that it's over, we'll be able to spend some time together."

"After the honeymoon," he adds, but she shakes her head.

"That's what the time in Europe was. I mean, it didn't start off that way, but we decided that it'd be silly to spend all that time there, come home, and turn around go on another trip. We got to do the bohemian thing for a little while and it was great, but now we kind of want to settle down."

"Phoebe Buffay? Settling down? Will wonders never cease?"

"Phoebe Buffay didn't want to settle down, but Phoebe _Hannigan_ can't wait." She leans into us conspiratorially. "We're thinking about starting a family. We talked about it a lot when we were in Europe but it didn't seem like it'd be a lot of fun being knocked up while basically living on people's couches. But now that we've done all that…we think we want a baby."

"Hey, I highly recommend it," Chandler answers, grinning widely. "Katie needs a whole bunch of little cousins."

"Speaking of, where _is_ your little girl? Is she talking yet? Walking? I bet she's completely forgotten her aunt Pheebs."

"I doubt it. She'll remember your cuddles right away. But no, not walking or talking yet. She can pull herself up on things but she seems to get stuck and looks terribly confused after. She's actually fluent in gibberish, I'll have you know, so if you speak any of that, you'll be able to have a great conversation."

"She's with a sitter right now," I add, and Phoebe gives me a disappointed look.

"The world's cutest baby isn't here tonight?"

"Sorry," Chandler answers. "Mon and I wanted a night to be grownups. It's been months since we did anything just the two of us."

"We do everything with Katie. The park, stores, museums, it doesn't matter. It's hard to _not_ spend time with her."

Chandler's arm slides around my shoulders, pulling me close. Until he mentioned coming to this wedding without the baby, I honestly hadn't realized that we haven't been alone together on anything resembling a date since he told me about Katie. When she goes to sleep, we have time together—other than that, I love being around the two of them. I suppose it's kind of nice to just be adults, though, even though I miss her so much right now it hurts.

"Hey, you want to see some pictures?" Chandler asks, pulling out his phone.

"I think I've seen enough of them on Facebook, actually," she teases even as she reaches for the phone.

"Yeah, but these are from the last couple of days. She's even cuter now."

Phoebe smiles as she scrolls through the last pictures, looking at the baby, who's almost not even a baby anymore, wistfully. "She's so perfect, Chandler, and she looks _so_ happy."

His arm tightens around my shoulders and I slide my hand across his thigh, pulling him a little closer. "Yeah, I think she's doing all right. She likes having Monica around."

"I noticed your status change when I was in Stockholm," she says casually as she scrolls. "I forgot to mention anything before now, though."

He looks at me, eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Status change?"

"On Facebook. That whole 'Chandler Bing is now in a relationship with Monica Geller' thing? It was adorable. I never expected you to do that."

"Oh," he answers, his cheeks turning pink. "Yeah, well…I just kinda wanted the world to know."

"I know," she answers. "Adorable."

I remember him doing that, almost surprised that he initiated it. Not that putting our relationship on social media makes it official, except that it did make it feel a bit more real. It happened just after we decided to give us a shot, after my freak out over the shock of him having a child hit me. But he put it out there, and I wasn't about to turn it down. So, now, the entire world can know that we're a couple, and even though it feels a little juvenile, I don't really care. I love the guy, and I'm good with everyone knowing it. I do refuse to put pictures of Katie on my page, though, mostly because it seems weird to flaunt his child like that. Not that it matters—half of the pictures he's taken of Katie in the last few months have me in them, too, so he just tags me. I've gotten more than a few questions from people I don't see very often about my baby and why weren't they told.

We're still working on logistics.

She hands the phone back to Chandler and crosses her arms over her chest, tilting her head. "I can't believe you had sex."

Chandler looks truly puzzled. "Uh…well, there was _at least_ that one time, Pheebs. Katie wasn't immaculately conceived."

She rolls her eyes. "No, not _you_ ," she answers, pointing at him. "You." She waves her finger between the two of us.

He gives me a look and I shrug. I really don't know how to respond to that. "I'm sorry; should I have sent out a memo when it happened? I didn't realize the world was waiting with baited breath for me to get laid again."

"Today," she clarifies. "I can't believe the two of you had sex _today_ , before you came here."

My eyes grow wide and my cheeks heat up as Chandler stiffens in his seat. "No, we didn't," he finally manages to choke out.

"Yeah, okay," she answers sarcastically. "You're both all…glowy."

"That doesn't mean we had..." He pauses, looking around before lowering his voice to a whisper. "Sex."

"Don't lie to me, Chandler. You're not very good at it. I'm not saying I'm upset; I'm just surprised that you did, that's all." I look over at Chandler, alarmed, and I feel Phoebe's hand on my arm. "It's okay. I'm a little bit psychic."

Ordinarily, I wouldn't believe in that at all, but she's actually right on the money with this one. Earlier this afternoon, after we put the baby down for a nap, we basically tackled each other. We barely made it into the bedroom before tearing off each other's clothes. We rolled around in bed for more than an hour—touching, teasing, kissing—before finally making love, both of us nearly comatose afterward. We had to drag ourselves out of bed and take separate showers to get ready for the wedding, though we honestly had a hard time keeping our hands off each other in the process.

We haven't left the honeymoon phase yet, but Phoebe has no way of knowing that. She has no way of knowing that we didn't start sleeping together until a month and a half ago; I would think she'd assume that we've been doing that for some time now. She would also have no way of knowing that we haven't spent a night apart since, and that the only reason I go back to my place is to pick up more clothes or things that I need. She has no idea that my stuff has started migrating over to Chandler's, my personal effects scattered not just in his bedroom, but all over the apartment.

She couldn't possibly know any of that.

I suppose she could assume it, but how could she possibly know that we had sex just before coming to her wedding?

She bursts out laughing, pointing at the two of us through her mirth. "I wish you could see your faces right now. It's like you got caught doing something illegal. You're adults—you're allowed to do a little consensual boning from time to time. I really only brought it up because I knew it would freak you out."

Chandler clears his throat and shifts in his chair, straightening his tie uncomfortably. "We're having a birthday party for Katie in a couple of weeks. You are planning to come, right?"

She nods enthusiastically. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"It's mostly just family," he warns. "I don't think I could handle an apartment full of one-year-olds."

"Will there be drinking?" she asks, and we both nod emphatically.

"It'll be an option," he clarifies. "I'm probably going to need it to get through the day."

I lean my head on his shoulder for a few moments, wrapping my arm around his waist. "I can't believe she's almost a year old."

He shudders, putting his hand on my arm. "I don't want to even _think_ about it right now."

I kiss his neck and Phoebe says, "Fair enough. How about this—is Joey still here? I saw him for a second during the ceremony but I haven't seen him since."

Chandler rolls his eyes. "Yeah, he's here. He went chasing after the waiters for the finger foods. I've seen him once since, briefly, and he was following around a woman, so…"

She laughs, nodding. "Sounds about right."

"Nice to know that some things never change, huh? I'll go track him down, though." He leans over to kiss me. "Need anything?"

"You don't have to cater to me just because you happen to be getting up."

"I know," he answers, kissing me again. "Need anything? Want some wine?"

"Thank you," I whisper. He gives me another kiss before standing, squeezing Phoebe's shoulder as he walks off.

"Wow, he looks happy," she says, watching as he goes. "I guess that's you."

I shrug, feeling embarrassed. "I hope so."

"He was _never_ like this with the other one. The only time I've seen him this happy is when it's about Katie, so thank you for making him smile."

"My pleasure," I answer sincerely. "Chandler's a great guy—the best guy, actually—and Katie is completely amazing. If they're half as happy as I am…" my voice trails off, realizing I'm going on and on to a stranger. "Sorry."

"Seriously, how have we not met before tonight?"

"Timing," I answer. "It sounds like Chandler and I had only been together about a month when you went on your trip, and I hadn't met any of his friends yet. I didn't even know about Katie then, so I guess he just wanted to keep all of that separate. And like he said, you've been really busy since you got back."

"We should make plans to have dinner or something."

My eyes widen in surprise. "Just you and me?"

"Yeah! I'm pretty sure we're going to be really good friends, Monica. I told you—I'm a little psychic." I chuckle and she smiles at me. "Man, I wish I'd met you back when you and Chandler started dating. That way, _you_ could have been my bridesmaid instead of Mike's lame second cousin Enid. God! She _insisted_ on a bachelorette 'party' at the country club, with all of her family's old relatives. Everyone was dressed up, cucumber sandwiches, tea…total snoozefest. I wanted bodyshots off of greased-up strippers and all those stupid penis-shaped decorations, but _noooo_. Afternoon tea before everyone goes home and takes a nap."

I burst out laughing—I think she's right. I can definitely see us being friends. "Well, maybe for your next wedding," I tease.

"Oh, definitely!" She winks at me before relaxing with a sigh. "Who knows? Maybe I'll get to be in _your_ wedding."

I nearly choke on air. "Oh, Phoebe, I don't know—"

"Why? Do you have someone better in mind?"

I bite my lip to stifle my laughter. "I don't know about better, but I've known my friend Rachel my whole life—"

"You can have two bridesmaids."

I laugh out loud this time. "You're absolutely right. But I'm a long way off from getting married."

This time Phoebe laughs, sobering a few moments later when I don't join in. "Oh, my God, you really believe that."

"Look, Chandler and I have only been together for about six months. I don't know if he's thinking that far ahead, or even thinking about it with _me_ , so I have no idea when I'll be getting married."

"He loves you, though. And you love him?"

"Well, yeah."

"And have you seen the way he looks at you?"

I shrug, feeling self-conscious. "I don't know. I guess."

"He's going to marry you," she says matter-of-factly. "I can feel it. I mean, you guys are living together, right?"

"Not—not technically, no." _Only_ technically, though, not that all of my stuff is at his place—not by a long shot. But he does do everything in his power to make sure I don't want to leave, constantly encouraging me to bring more things over, or suggesting we go out and buy a new something together. It suits me fine because I don't like the idea of spending even a night away from him. It's depressing. If he'd rather we go out and buy a new anything instead of me needing to go home and get it, I'm not going to complain.

"Well, mark my words. Within a year, you'll be married."

"Maybe," I answer wistfully. Hopefully. If I'm lucky.

"Monica, can I tell you a secret?" she asks, leaning in toward me. "I mean, now that we're so close and all."

"Of course," I chuckle. "You can tell me anything." I'm a little surprised to realize that I mean it.

"Mike and I actually got married early this morning."

I gasp, a smile spreading across my face. "No way."

"Yeah. We knew today was going to be a circus and not at all about us. Let's be honest; this," she pauses, sweeping her hand around the room, "is about what his parents wanted and thought would be for the best. We went along with it; it's easier, and we knew that as long as we ended up married, it didn't really matter. But the more we talked about it, the more we wanted something just for us, so we found an officiate online and made a copy of our marriage license so that we could have the real one from this morning, and the one from tonight. We met way out in Brooklyn before dawn and got hitched."

"That's really kind of amazing," I tell her. "I love the idea of doing something like that."

"It was great. I think it took a lot of pressure off the day for us, too, because we've been having a great time. I didn't feel any nerves or anything, just happy that he was already my husband."

"I can't wait to meet him," I tell her. "He sounds like he must be one hell of a guy."

"Oh, he is. He's amazing. He thinks my quirks are cute. I mean, if you find a guy who thinks all of your crazies are adorable…well, you hold onto him with both hands and never let go."

"Ain't _that_ the truth," I agree. Chandler has certainly dealt with his fair share of crazy the last few months, though I think we'd both agree that I've been much better about it lately. Something about being around him constantly has helped even me out.

A man walks up behind Phoebe—her new husband, actually—and he smiles at me politely as he puts his hands on her shoulders. "Honey? I'm sorry to interrupt."

"Oh, Mike! Mike, this is Monica!"

He smiles at me again, much more broadly this time, and holds out his hand. "It's wonderful to meet you, and I promise I'll come back over at some point tonight and be less rude, but Phoebe…the crowds are starting to swarm. I can only handle them on my own for so long."

"You're right," she answers, popping up. "I'll be back. And if we don't get together beforehand, we'll definitely see you at Katie's party." She waves and I wave back, my body drooping in my seat as she leaves. She's like a whirlwind, full of energy and exuberance. It's pretty incredible.

Honestly, I can't wait to get to know her.

* * *

*A/N…I can't thank all of you enough for your overwhelming support in regards to my previous author's note. It means a lot to me that you're all so kind and supportive, though it breaks my heart that so many of you have had similar experiences. I hope you're all able to find the resolutions you need, and all I can really say is that I feel so much better having gotten all of that off my chest. I'm assuming she has read it or at least will at some point (if she doesn't read my stories, how else will she be able to copy plot points?), but one way or another, I feel like a weight has been lifted off of me. I can assure you that the note will stay and if people are still reading my stories years from now, maybe just one person will find it within themselves to stand up their bully, too. I know how hard it can be.

But, onto something less serious. At least one or two people have asked if Phoebe would show up in this story…well, what's the fun if I give away everything? ;) Actually, for a long time I wasn't sure how to get her into this, but fortunately, inspiration struck. She'll be around from time to time as the story progresses.

Also, this story is officially longer than "You." I don't know how that's even possible. It's even longer than the non-Mondler version of "You," which I added a whole bunch of stuff to. I didn't realize I'd written quite so much; then again, it's been a long time since I even opened the file for that story. I'm hoping I have at least one more epic-length story in me, too. At the very least, I've had a vague idea floating around for months, but I think it'll require a lot of research before I can start.


	23. Chapter 23

_True love begins when nothing is looked for in return._

* * *

"Katie," I say as I sit down on the floor, waiting for her to look up at me. "Katie."

She turns her little face to me and grins. She pushes herself onto her haunches and points at me. "Oooh bah! Bah bah bah bah!"

"Come to Monica, Katie." I nearly sit on my hands to keep myself from reaching for her. Lately, Chandler and I have been working on that—trying to get her to come to us without gesturing. Neither of us know if it's a thing that's recommended by child specialists, but we're trying it anyway, mostly to see how she responds to our voices. It's only been partially successful, but it's still better than nothing.

Katie gives me a thoughtful look before dropping back to her hands, zooming over to me at warp speed, smile never leaving her face. She reaches my knees and pushes herself up again, holding out her arms to be picked up. I gather her into my arms and kiss her chubby cheek.

"You're so smart, Katie!" I kiss her cheek a few more times for good measure. "So smart! What are we going to do with you?"

"Sell her to a carnival," Chandler answers from the couch. "Or the zoo."

"No," I coo, stroking her hair. "I'll never let Daddy sell you to anyone." I give her another kiss and turn her around, plopping her on the floor between my legs. "Who is that, Katie-did? Is that Daddy?" Her eyes light up as she sees Chandler, identical looks of pure adoration on their faces. "Can you say Dada? Da-da." Her hands clap together as she grins at her father, so I know she knows who I'm talking about. "C'mon, Katie, you know you want to say it. _Dada_." She purses her lips and blows a bunch of wet bubbles and I sigh.

"She's stubborn," Chandler tells me, sliding down to the floor to sit across from us.

"Gee, I wonder where she gets that from," I answer drily, rolling my eyes.

He gives me a look of disbelief. "If I had to pick, I'd say from you. You're only the most stubborn person in the world, Monica."

I give him a look—there may be many things that Katie could pick up from me, but I doubt that being stubborn is one of them. "Want to go to Dada?" I hoist her to her feet, immediately letting her grab onto my fingers. I kneel behind her and with my help, she takes stilted, almost drunken steps over to her father.

Chandler smiles at her broadly, holding out his arms for her to fall into. "Yay, Katie! Look at you—you've almost got it!"

She has yet to take a step on her own; she'll hold onto someone's fingers and toddle about for as long as her legs will let her, but the moment we let go, her eyes fill with tears and she lets out a wail of true despair. She pulls herself up onto things and can propel herself along if she uses furniture, but other than that, she sticks to crawling. I suppose if I had a bunch of suckers to carry me around, I wouldn't be terribly interested in walking on my own, either.

"You want to go to Monica again?" he asks, turning her to me. Her knees bend though her smile is still wide. Chandler mimics my position and lets her hold his fingers. She stumbles awkwardly toward my outstretched hands, which I pull closer and closer to my body with every step she makes.

"C'mon, baby girl, you can do it." One of her hands actually lets go of Chandler's finger and stretches out toward me. He stops moving, letting her pull his arm as far as it will go. I move my hand a little closer, almost to her side, when she stops, looking confused. We wait to see what she'll do; her lower lip trembles. "Come to Monica, Katie," I whisper. Her breath starts to hitch so I put my hand gently on her back, bracing her last couple of steps. She collapses into my arms with a sniffle. "You did great, honey."

Chandler leans over me suddenly, a hand in my hair as he pulls me in for a gentle kiss. "We'll get her there." He starts to move away but I grab the back of his neck, pulling him to me for another kiss. He smiles against my lips as he lingers before slowly breaking the connection. He sits back and pulls out his phone, aiming it at Katie. "Okay, cutie—do something adorable."

I look down at her and smile. "She exists and it's adorable. You need to be more specific."

He chuckles in agreement. "She changes so much every day that I feel like we should be filming her all the time, just in case. I don't want to miss anything."

I kiss her cheek and give her sides a little tickle, making her squirm and laugh. "Katie, who is that?" I try again, pointing to Chandler. Her arm stretches out to match mine. "Is that Monica?" She falters a little, puzzled as to why I'm trying to confuse her. "No, that's not Monica. Who is it?"

Chandler peeks at her from around the phone, giving her a big smile. "Hi, sweetheart."

Her face lights up again and she bounces up and down against me. "Da…da."

We gasp at the same time, first looking at her then each other in shock. I almost forget to breathe. Chandler's eyes start to tear up.

"Katie," I say softly, pointing to Chandler again. "Who is that? Is that Dada?"

"Da…da," she repeats slowly, her voice tiny but perfect. My heart nearly explodes with love as tears of my own fill my eyes.

"That's right, honey. That's your dada."

"Oh, my God," Chandler breathes, looking as if he's going to fall over. "Did that really just happen?"

"Replay the video and see for yourself," I tease, wiping my cheek with my shoulder. He puts the phone down and holds out his arms, so I slide over next to him, propping Katie up on our legs.

"That was amazing," he says, his voice shaky. I wrap my arm around his shoulders and pull him to me, a few warm tears hitting my neck. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

"Honey, it's a big deal. It's huge." I pull Katie into the hug, and she makes a noise of protest over being squished.

"I think this might be just about the best day of my life," he mumbles, trying to get himself under control.

"He says that now," I whisper to Katie, "but in a few years, when you're chattering nonstop, he's going to miss the days you never said a word."

"Never," he answers, finally looking up at her. "I want to hear that beautiful little voice of hers forever. Can you say it again, sweetie?"

She looks at him, her eyes wide and so very bright, before she collapses onto her little butt with a sigh. "I think that's a 'no,'" I tell him.

He grabs his phone again, pulling up the video. I lean in to watch it—sure enough, that magical moment has been captured forever.

"I'm uploading this to a million different places, just in case," he tells me, tapping at the screen. "Facebook, too. I want everyone to see this."

Katie wiggles away from us, crawling across the living room to a pile of toys. "Tired of the unadulterated worship?" I ask her, ignored as she picks up one of her squishy toys and shoves it in her mouth.

"It's really hard being a year old," Chandler answers, watching her play. "You couldn't possibly understand." He sighs, pulling me closer. "I want to hear her say it again."

"She will," I promise him. "When she's good and ready, I'm sure, but she will." I check my watch and heave myself to my feet. "I need to check on dinner."

Chandler stands with me, lifting Katie off the ground and swooping her through the air. "Have I mentioned lately how much I love that you're such a good cook?" he asks, putting her in her bouncy seat.

"Mmmm, not today."

His hands slide around my waist, caressing my stomach gently. "You're the best chef in the world," he breathes into my ear. "Thank you for keeping us so well fed."

"Chandler," I moan quietly. "We can't start this right now. I'm beginning to think you're insatiable."

"You're one to talk. Who accosted whom in the shower this morning?"

"Yeah, and who decided that doing it on the living room floor this afternoon while Katie napped in the next room was a great idea?"

He chuckles, fingers sliding under the hem of my shirt. "That was totally worth the rug burn on my ass."

I can't argue with him there. I turn in his arms, wrapping my own arms around his shoulders as I stand on tiptoe. "Maybe we have a problem," I breathe against his lips, close but not quite touching.

"We do," he agrees. "It's called 'My Girlfriend Is Ridiculously Hot-itis.' There's no known cure, unfortunately."

"Well, that's a pity," I answer. "You know I'm here to help in any way I can, though, right? I'm always willing to lend a hand."

He groans, though definitely at the horrible pun. "You're lucky I love you."

"You're right about that," I agree, my lips sliding over his. He tightens his grip on my waist and I feel him lift me onto the counter—seriously, I think he's always ready for sex. It's pretty incredible. I wrap my legs around him and pull him closer, feeling a vibration against my thigh a moment later. I'm unable to stifle my grin. "I think _someone_ is happy to see me."

"That's my phone, you perv." He kisses the tip of my nose before he pulls away, and I swat at his ass.

"Thanks for clearing that up, darling," I say as I slide off the counter and grab potholders, pulling my latest concoction out of the oven.

"That was Mom," he says, closing the oven door behind me. "She says she'll be here in a few minutes." I make a little noise as I put down the pan, and I feel his hand rub between my shoulder blades. "What?"

"I'm just nervous."

"You met her last week at Katie's birthday party."

"Yeah, sure, but all the attention was focused on Katie. Your mother hardly noticed me, and when she did, I don't think she liked me very much."

"Impossible," he answers, leaning in to kiss the side of my head.

"Honey, not everyone is as love-blind as you are. She didn't find me nearly as attractive as you seem to."

"I should hope not. Look, she was probably just distracted by the baby. Who could blame her? My mother is crazy and eccentric and will probably make you feel wildly uncomfortable with just how _open_ she is about everything, but I'm sure you'll get along fine."

"If you say so," I answer, turning back to the stove to grab the potatoes.

"Don't worry so much. Besides isn't the fact that Katie and I love you enough?"

"Chandler, are you really going to tell me that your mother's opinion of me won't affect the way you feel about me at all? I mean, if she really hates me, aren't you going to keep dating me just to piss her off?"

He grabs my hips, pulling me to him. "Monica, my mother has no say in who I date. None. If she likes you, awesome. If she doesn't, which I doubt will be the case, she'll get over it. I love her, and she was a huge help in the whole custody battle, but she's not here every day. This isn't her life." He takes my face in his hands, giving me a gentle kiss. "I love you," he whispers, "and you make me so happy. Always remember that."

"Da…da."

We grin at each other and turn to Katie. She has her arms out, an earnest look on her face. "That's the best sound in the world," I say as Chandler scoops her up, planting a kiss on her cheek.

"I think the first time she says, 'I love you,' I'll actually die."

My eyes grow watery at the thought; I rub her back and kiss her head. "How long do you think it'll be before she can say 'Monica'?"

"Probably a long time. That's a big word for someone so little." There's a knock at the door and Chandler opens it with a grin. "Hi, Mom! Guess what?"

I hear her laugh and see her arms wrap around his waist. "What, honey?"

"Katie just said her first word."

She gasps as he lets her into the apartment, looking at her granddaughter in wonder. "You did? Katie, that's wonderful!" Katie presses herself against her father's chest, grinning at her grandmother. "Come to grandma, honey." Mrs. Bing gathers her in her arms, kissing her cheek. "What did you say?"

"She said 'Dada,'" Chandler answers proudly. "My baby's first word was 'Dada.'"

"Of course it was," she answers, looking at Katie adoringly. "That's how it should be." Finally, she looks up at me and smiles. "Hi, Monica. It's nice to see you again."

Maybe Chandler was right—maybe I was just imagining hostility from his mother. Maybe I'm just too nervous about making a good impression.

I wipe my hands on a towel and hold one out to her. "Hi, Mrs. Bing. It's nice to see you, too."

"Everything smells great," she says as Chandler closes the door behind her, leaving her overnight bag next to it. "Chandler tells me you're a professional chef."

"She's great, Mom. Wait until you taste her food. Your mouth will feel like it's died and gone to heaven."

He's laying it on awfully thick. "Well, it's just about ready."

"Anything I can do to help?" he asks, hand on my hip.

"Nope. I've got this." I start serving and Mrs. Bing puts Katie in her high chair. She slaps at the tray a few times, struggling away from the bib Chandler tries to put around her neck.

"Looks like her rebellious streak is starting early," Mrs. Bing says as she pulls out a chair.

"Don't even think that," he answers, finally getting the bib in place. Katie's face starts to crumple so I immediately hand her a sippy cup, which soothes her instantly.

"Don't worry, Katie-did," I tell her, and her eyes shift to me as she chugs. "You can eat soon."

She grins at me around her cup, and even though I know she probably doesn't really get what I just said, it makes me happy anyway.

* * *

*A/N…I know—it's an awkward place to end a chapter. But the first half and the second half of the original chapter felt like two separate pieces, so I split them up. Just gives you more to read, though, right?


	24. Chapter 24

_I love her, and that's the beginning and the end of everything._

* * *

As we eat, we fall into easy, generic conversation, though I spend most of my time holding out tiny spoonfuls of mashed potatoes to Katie. Mercifully, she's in the mood to eat tonight instead of immediately spitting it out or sobbing at the mere notion of food.

"So, your book tour is over, right, Mom?"

"Not quite. I have to go to Boston the day after tomorrow and do a couple more signings there. _Then_ I'll be finished. Until the next one, of course," she adds with a wink.

"Are you already writing your next novel?" I ask, wiping Katie's mouth.

"Honey, I'm _always_ writing my next novel. You wouldn't believe the inspiration you can get for romance by traveling the world."

"I can imagine." I suspect traveling around the globe would be romantic, in its own way. I think I have plenty of romance right here in New York, though.

"Well, I appreciate you arranging this tour so that you landed here for Katie's birthday," Chandler says, patting his full stomach before he stretches.

"I wouldn't have let anything stop me from being here for that," she answers, smiling at Katie fondly. "I may have turned thirty five or six times, but I'm pretty sure you only turn one once."

"Mon, you want me to do that for a while?" Chandler asks, gesturing toward the baby. "You've hardly eaten anything."

I shrug, spooning more food into her mouth. "I'm fine. She's in the zone right now. I don't want to do anything to discourage it."

"She's really going to town on those mashed potatoes," Mrs. Bing says, looking impressed.

"Katie loves Monica's cooking," he answers. "It runs in the family."

"Does Monica cook for Katie a lot?"

He shrugs, scooping more food onto his plate. "Most nights. Sometimes we order in, but not often."

She makes a noncommittal noise and I feel my stomach twist a little. "So, are you sure it's not an inconvenience for me to stay here tonight? Because I can get a room—"

"No, Mom, don't worry about it. Joey's room is all made up for you." She makes a face and I snicker a little, taking a few bites of food for myself while Katie smacks her potatoes around in her mouth. "It's clean, I promise. Monica went through and thoroughly sanitized everything. It's been vacuumed, dusted, organized, and brand new sheets are on the bed."

"Monica cleaned it?" she asks, looking at me.

"I like to do it," I answer self-consciously.

"Now the place doesn't look so much like a couple of college guys live here," he adds in, reaching over to rub my back gently.

"Where will Joey sleep?" Mrs. Bing asks, leaning back in her chair.

"He has some 'lady friend' he's spending the night with," Chandler answers. "But he said if it doesn't pan out, he'll just sleep on the couch. But Mom, if you're worried about it, you can just stay in our room tonight, and we'll sleep in Joey's. It's not that big of a deal."

I see her eyebrow twitch, her entire demeanor shifts, and I suddenly feel panicky. Something happened, though I'm not sure what. All I know is it's not going to be good.

"You live here?" she asks, her voice too casual to actually be causal.

"What?" Chandler asks, looking confused.

"Do you two live together?"

"Nooo…" I answer slowly, my voice trailing off into a question.

"Are you not sure about it? It doesn't seem like it should be too tough to answer."

Chandler looks at me, baffled. "Mom, what are you talking about?"

"You said 'our room.' I'm assuming that means Monica is a permanent resident." The edge to her voice is unmistakable, and my heart starts to hammer.

"I did?" he asks, still looking confused. "So what?"

"I'm just asking questions, Chandler," she says. "Aren't I allowed to know who's living with my granddaughter?"

His eyes narrow a tiny bit. "I suppose."

"But Monica _doesn't_ live here," she says, her tone way beyond doubtful. We both remain silent, and she gives Chandler a look. "So, she does live here."

"She…she stays here a lot, yes. But no, we don't actually live together. Why is it such a big deal if we do?"

"You have to be very careful about the people you let into your child's life, that's all. It's not good for people to bounce in and out of a baby's life. Katie needs stability and familiarity."

"She has both of those things. And, you know, I don't remember you being so discerning with the multitudes of nannies and housekeepers that came and went during my childhood."

"Don't be rude, Chandler," she answers and he gives me a disbelieving look.

I stand and gather the plates off the table with shaking hands. I don't know what's happening or why. I don't know where this sudden shift came from, but it does seem like I was right in my original assessment. This woman doesn't like me.

Great.

"I need to change Katie's diaper and put her in her pajamas," Chandler says, and I hear him start to push his chair back from the table.

"I'll do it," his mother answers, her voice entirely different than just moments ago. "I'd love to have a little alone time with my granddaughter."

I turn to see Chandler wipe Katie's face off and pull her out of the high chair, passing her to his mother. She makes little cooing noises at the baby as she disappears into Katie's room.

"Holy shit," Chandler breathes to me. "What the hell was _that_?"

"I told you she didn't like me," I answer in a whisper.

"But…but…that was just bizarre. I've never seen her do that before."

"I don't think she wants me around Katie."

"Well, that's not her choice."

I pause, taking a few deep breaths to calm myself, Katie whining softly in the background. "Maybe I should just go home for the night."

His forehead crinkles in confusion. "What're you talking about?"

"Home, Chandler. My apartment? If my being here is going to upset her like this, maybe it'll be better if I just make myself scarce for now." Honestly, I don't even remember him saying "our room." Maybe it's something he always says and I never think anything about it.

"No way," he answers vehemently. "She can't just make a few passive aggressive comments and expect us to crumble. This is _our_ —" He pauses, giving me a crooked smile. "Wow. I just did it again. Rather, this is my apartment. I'm an adult. My girlfriend is allowed to spend the night."

"Honey, I get that, but we're talking about one night. I don't want to cause any trouble."

"I don't think I'd be able to sleep if you weren't next to me," he mumbles, looking bashful.

I try to fight the smile that's tugging at my lips. "Me neither."

"And what about Katie? She shouldn't have to suffer because my mom has suddenly gone off the deep end."

Honestly, I _don't_ want to leave. I don't want to go back to my apartment and sleep alone in my bed. I don't want to be without Chandler and Katie. But I certainly don't want to cause any friction here, either. "I'm pretty sure she'd be okay without me for a few hours. She probably won't even know I'm gone."

He pauses, looking at me hesitantly. "You're not freaking out again, are you?"

I consider that for a moment. "Surprisingly, no. If I step back for the night, it will actually only be for the night. I won't let myself get to a point where I think you're both better off without me, whether that's true or not, because I know that _I'm_ better with you."

Katie's fussing grows louder as a voice says, "Am I interrupting anything?"

We turn to face his mother, Katie a little red-faced in her arms. "Nope. Nothing at all," Chandler answers. "Any problems?"

"She seems a bit cranky," she answers, kissing the baby's cheek.

"Well, she's very particular about who gets to wipe her little ass."

"Dada," she says suddenly, reaching out.

Mrs. Bing gasps and hugs Katie close. "Oh, my God! Oh, that's so sweet!"

Chandler looks like he's about to melt into a puddle of goo all over again. "Incredible, isn't it?"

Katie's face scrunches up and she starts to squirm, whining as her grandmother showers her with affection. "It's all right, little Katie. Grandma's here."

Apparently, it's _not_ all right. Katie rubs at her face before hitting her hands on her grandmother's arm, trying to express her displeasure.

"She's just tired, Mom. We held dinner off as long as we could, and it's kind of late for her. Come here, Katie-did." He holds out his arms and she goes willingly, curling up against his chest. "Don't worry—it's almost bedtime."

"I haven't been here for bedtime in a long time," his mother says, looking at Katie eagerly. "May I help put her down?" Chandler shoots a glance at me for a split second, but it's enough for Mrs. Bing to catch, her arms crossing over her chest. "Or would I just be in the way?"

"Of course not, Mom," Chandler answers tiredly, patting Katie's back as he sways. "Katie just has her own routine."

"Which is?"

He sighs, passing the baby off to me. "I read her a story and Monica does the rocking and swaying part. She likes it. It soothes her."

I kiss Katie's head and take a deep breath of her baby scent, forcing myself to relax. She snuffles and grabs my hair, tugging a little harder than normal. "It's just because I'm a girl and I'm softer than Chandler. I'm sure she'd love to have her grandma put her to bed tonight. Right, Katie?" She snuffles again, ignoring me. "Yeah. You're just letting us know that it's time." I take a couple of tentative steps toward Mrs. Bing, angling the baby toward her when I get close.

She takes her from me, smiling at me with forced politeness. It makes my stomach drop. I feel Chandler's hand slide around my waist, giving me a squeeze.

"Are you ready for night-night?" she coos, turning away from the both of us as she disappears into the nursery once more.

Chandler sighs, pressing his forehead against mine for a moment. "I'll talk to her."

"Honey…don't worry about it. I don't want there to be tension between the two of you as well."

"Do you really think my mother acting hostile toward you for no reason doesn't make me tense in general?" He gives me a quick peck. "Whatever's bothering her, I need to figure it out _now_. It's already gotten old." He kisses me again before trotting off to Katie's room, and I start grabbing dishes—dirty ones, clean ones, it doesn't matter—and turn on the water as hot as I can stand it before scrubbing. Chandler has a dishwasher, but I need something to distract myself. Cleaning seems like a good idea.

I can hear their rumbling of their voices in the other room, the conversation indistinguishable over the rush of water. My own thoughts are not so easily silenced, though. All I can hear is his mother's harsh tone and sharp words. The fact that she doesn't seem to approve of me at all hurts more than I ever imagined. I'm usually very personable, and I at least try to get along with everyone. But to come across someone who's bound and determined to dislike me before she ever gets to know me? That's not something I think anyone is ever really prepared for.

I finally let out a deep breath and turn off the water, ready to clean up and put away the leftovers, and their voices filter out to me, loud and clear.

"…this woman running in and out of her life?"

I look around, trying to find somewhere to hide so that it won't look like I'm eavesdropping, but there's nowhere to go. Short of leaving the apartment, which would look strange and worry the hell out of Chandler, any other place would make it look like I was trying not to hear them, which would seem even more suspicious.

"Monica doesn't do that," Chandler says, his voice quiet, almost dangerous sounding. "She's a constant presence. Katie trusts her."

"She has no legal obligation to this little girl," his mother says, also keeping her voice quiet so as not to wake Katie.

"So what? What does legal obligation have to do with anything? Do you think Katie would be better off with Corinne? Do you think _I_ would?"

I hold my breath, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"That's not what I'm saying."

"Then what _are_ you saying, Mother?" He sounds exasperated. "Please, tell me, because I'd like to know. You're right—Monica has no legal ties to me or to Katie whatsoever, but that doesn't mean she doesn't love Katie with every fiber of her being. She would do anything for her. It's not as if genetics makes someone a mother. Look at Corinne! She's never seen Katie; not once. She has no interest in being a mother, or being part of her life in any way at all. Monica _does_."

"Are you saying that Monica is Katie's mother?"

My hands grab the edges of the counter, my knuckles turning white. "…No, of course not."

"Is she going to be?"

Oh, God. I don't think I want to know the answer to this right now. Not like this.

"Mom, I don't know. We haven't gotten there yet. But when it comes down to it, it's not your business."

"It has to do with my granddaughter and her wellbeing, so it _is_ my business." She sounds pissed.

I realize I've probably been silent for too long, so I grab a few containers out of the cabinet and start scooping out food.

"Mom, it's great that you care so much, and I know that your heart is in the right place, but back off." I bite my lip, trying not to smile. This doesn't feel like a smiling sort of moment, even though I actually want to cheer out loud for him. "Monica isn't a flake. She's not someone I'm just fooling around with. I love her. Do you get that? I _love_ her. This is real. Aside from Katie, she's the most important person in the world to me. This is nothing like any other relationship I've been in, and you can't compare her to Corinne. You barely knew Corinne, and you know even less about Monica."

"I just don't want you or Katie to be hurt."

"But we might be. I mean, I don't really see that happening this time, but it's always a possibility. You can't stop it."

I hate that it's true. Hell, we have stupid little fights all the time that hurt. We don't ever do it intentionally, but that doesn't mean we don't have the ability to say the worst things to each other at the worst possible moment.

"But you're _living_ together," she exclaims. "You can call it whatever you want, but she's all over this apartment. This is her home. Isn't it confusing for Katie? Waking up to see a strange face here?"

"Monica is _not_ a strange face to her, and not that it's any of your business, but we took a long time before spending the night together. By that point, Monica was always here to help put Katie to bed, she was here to feed her, or to watch her when I had to work and Joey wasn't here. Katie knows her. She absolutely adores Monica. It was worse for her to have Monica put her to bed every night and wake up without her than it's ever been to have her here in the mornings."

Aside from the first morning, when she was very clingy. It's evened out since then, at least for the most part. Sometimes, she does prefer me to Chandler, but it really seems to depend on her mood.

"I'm sorry—I just can't handle the thought of another Corinne situation." Now she sounds truly distraught, and my heart actually goes out to her. That must have been a horrible time for all of them, and I can't blame her for not wanting to ever see her son go through that again.

"I think we're safe from that. We've been together more than six months, which is quite a bit longer than I was ever with Corinne, and I was _never_ all that serious about _her_. She was just someone I was dating who happened to get pregnant…and then went nuts." I almost burst out laughing. Only Chandler could make something so horrible sound so funny, and his mother actually lets out a chuckle of her own. "If— _if_ —Monica happened to get pregnant, we're in a much better position to handle it. I don't think there's any way she'd ever give up a baby, especially not _ours_. We would deal with it together and we'd make it work. It's not like I harbored any such illusions about Corinne. We were space fillers for each other, but Monica," he laughs to himself, "Monica fills up all of my empty spaces. She's the _one_ , Mom. She's so much more than I ever expected to find. Just give her a chance, all right?"

My eyes water for a moment before tears start to slide down my face. _The one_. Chandler thinks I'm _the one_. It makes my heart twist in so many different ways, but mostly I feel overjoyed. Before him, I was beginning to think I'd never find the right guy. Since meeting him, I haven't honestly given tons of thought to what comes next. It crosses my mind from time to time, but I try not to think about what _might_ happen in the future. I've been trying to just enjoy each moment as it comes, especially with Katie in the picture. Her life is a wonderful series of moments, and if I spend time wondering what she'll be like in even a week, I miss out on who she is right now. I haven't stopped to think about what all of this means for a while, and we haven't talked about where we see any of this going even six months down the line, but his answer is so honest, so raw, that I know it's what he's been feeling for a long time.

"But how do you even know if you're compatible without your daughter? What if—"

Chandler cuts her off, not bothering to wait for her to finish. "We dated for two months before I ever told her about Katie. We know what it's like to be just a couple. Trust me, we worked that way, too. We work in every way, Mom. But let me worry about all that, all right? Can't you just be happy that I'm happy? Can't you be happy that your granddaughter is happy? She is, you know. Katie's very happy. She loves Monica—she always has. They're like two peas in a pod. Monica's always teaching her something new; hell, she's the one who kept saying 'Dada' until Katie caught on. Why are you fighting me so hard on this?"

"Put yourself in my shoes," she hisses, her voice sounding strained. "I saw you go through hell with Corinne and it killed me. I would happily strangle that woman if I ever set eyes on her again. Worrying about your kids…it never ends, Chandler. Never. It doesn't matter how old you are or where I am, I will always want to protect you."

"Mom…Monica is different."

"That's what everyone always thinks. They always think the new one is different from the last."

He sighs, and I can practically see him rubbing his hands over his face. "You know me. How many real relationships have I been in? How often do I romanticize things? I don't rush into things, at least not usually. If I didn't know that I could trust Monica, she wouldn't be here right now. I wouldn't have let her meet Katie until I was ready. She's a good person. She's not going to hurt us."

"How can you be sure?"

"Nothing's sure in life, Mom. That's what makes it fun. I have no idea what I'm doing with Katie most days—honestly, half the time I'm really surprised that I'm allowed to be a parent. I just try to love her as best as I can and hope for the best. But Monica…she's a natural. From the first moment she met Katie, they just clicked. I've never seen a person more at home with a child than Monica. It's like maybe _she_ was supposed—"

I turn on the water again, not ready to hear the end of that sentence. I've listened enough for now. I've _heard_ enough for now. I sniffle even as I smile, scrubbing at the last few dishes from tonight's dinner.

* * *

*A/N…it's not something to read with your Sunday morning cereal, but it's something.

I don't know if any of you are in Paris or any other part of France right now, or if you have friends or family there, but my heart goes out to you. My heart goes out to all of you in Europe at the moment, because this has to feel a lot closer to home than a lot of other things have lately. It's completely heartbreaking.


	25. Chapter 25

_Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own._

* * *

I wake with a start, my eyes flying open. I hold my breath for a moment, listening for a sound, anything, that could have woken me, but everything is quiet.

I let out the breath, relaxing. Chandler's warm breath puffs against my neck. I try to move my arm, flung across the pillows, but his head is resting on it. I blink a few more times, becoming aware of my surroundings, Chandler's body pressed against me comforting and reassuring. His leg is draped over one of mine, his hand…

I sigh, shaking my head a little.

The man is kind of a pervert in his sleep. Inevitably, he winds up copping a feel during the night. Either his fingers find their way under the edge of my pajama pants—on the nights I happen to be wearing them—as he strokes me casually in his sleep, or his hand slides under my tank top, fingers spread across one breast like he's afraid it won't be there when he wakes up. There have been a few occasions where his hand just warms my stomach, and it's actually quite comforting, but I usually wake up with him, as he is now, cupping a boob.

It's usually worse when we fall asleep naked. He really is all hands then.

Not that I'm actually complaining. It's just one of his quirks, and I find it more entertaining than annoying. I love that we tend to sleep wrapped around each other. I love that I sleep better with him than I ever have in my entire life. If that comes at the cost of a little casual groping, then so be it.

I turn my head and kiss his forehead, sighing as my eyes drift shut. The baby monitor crackles and my eyes fly open again. That must be what woke me in the first place. I'm overly sensitive to the noises Katie makes at night. Chandler says I'm pretty much the way he was when she was brand new; I guess he has some sort of daddy sleep filter that lets him know when she's just making noises in her sleep or when she's actually in distress. I listen for a few more moments and she starts to make snuffling noises, whining a little, and I feel Chandler become alert beside me.

"I've got her," I whisper, sliding my arm out from under his head.

"No, no, no," he mumbles, his eyes tiny slits. "I'll do it."

I lean over and kiss his cheek. "Go back to sleep."

"I got her," he slurs, already mostly gone to the world as he grabs my pillow and hugs it close.

I sit up and listen to the monitor again—she's still fussing, but not horribly so. I probably have time to get her bottle before it gets bad. When I stand, I realize that tonight is one of the nights that I'm not wearing pants—I must have pulled them off in my sleep. Wouldn't be the first time. I pat the bottom of the bed, trying to find them, but give up after a few moments. Katie certainly won't care.

I stumble out to the kitchen and dig out a bottle, trying not to make too much noise in the process. I blearily mix the formula and shake it up, Katie's cries starting to grow more frantic. "Monica's coming," I whisper as I hurry across the apartment. "It's okay, sweetheart, Monica's coming."

When I get to her room she's already pulled herself to her feet, holding onto the edge of her crib like a tiny prisoner, her face cast in shadows from the night light in the hall. She holds her arms out to me and I pull her against my chest, swaying back and forth. She whimpers against my neck and I rub her back, trying to sooth her.

"What's the matter, honey? You have a bad dream?" She doesn't answer, though I can't say that I was expecting her to. "Dirty diaper?" I gently lay her on her changing table, which doesn't thrill her at all. She whines in protest, trying to wiggle away from me. I pop open her pajamas, relieved to find her diaper dry. It can be tough enough to change her diaper when all the odds are in my favor, but when it's the middle of the night and I'm half awake, and she's fussy and squirmy, it's almost impossible. I pull her back into my arms and she molds herself against me, her little body still hitching as she starts to calm. I hold the bottle to her lips and she grabs on, chugging greedily. "You're a little chunky monkey, aren't you?" I ask her, smiling at her adoringly. She's a good eater, most of the time. At the very least, she has things she likes and is able to keep those down.

I carefully ease myself into the rocking chair crammed into her room. She studies me as she eats, which I suppose is only fair. I stare at her all the time. I feel like I can never look at her enough. She's so perfect it hurts.

"I love you, sweet, sweet girl. You know that, right? You're the most amazing thing to ever happen to me." I kiss her forehead, not disturbing her for a moment. She keeps her hands on the bottle, though I help keep it propped up with one finger. "You're a big girl now, though, aren't you? You're a whole year old. You've got everything figured out."

She only seems interested in eating. Sometimes, conversation fascinates her, the bottle falling away from her lips as she listens. But this is one of those nights where all she wants is sustenance, and with the way she's putting the bottle away, I can't believe she held out this long before crying.

She makes a couple of sucking noises before she turns her head, actually pushing at the bottle. I offer it to her a couple more times but she refuses, full enough for the moment.

I stretch out and put it on her changing table, maneuvering her to my shoulder. I rub her back gently, cringing as I realize I didn't bother to grab a rag to cover myself. Fortunately, she's been better about keeping food in her belly, so she only lets out a delicate little burp . I settle her back into my arms, somehow not surprised to see that she looks wide awake. I'm hoping it's just a temporary thing—she has the amazing ability to go from hell on wheels to fast asleep in about two seconds.

I use my foot to push us in the chair for a while, humming to her a little, but she just isn't interested in sleep at the moment. "C'mon, Katie," I whisper. "It's night-night time. Aren't you sleepy? We aren't going to let you nap all day tomorrow, you know." Not that it would bother her, really. Some days she's like clockwork with her nap schedule, and other days, it's a struggle to get her into her crib.

I pull a throw blanket off the arm of the chair and drape it over us, hoping the warmth will make her sleepy. She cuddles into me a little more, twisting her body so that her front is pressed against my chest. That's a good sign—even though her eyes are still wide open, this is usually a "go to sleep" position for her. I run my hand over her fine, sandy brown hair, and her little hand comes up, grabbing onto my boob.

Like father, like daughter, apparently.

Though, I think that's a little kid thing. I've seen other babies reach their hands down their mother's shirts, groping away. Katie does it to me all the time, even more so when she's fussy, though I have no idea why. I get why kids who have been around a mother their entire lives would do it, but I haven't been part of Katie's world for very long. Maybe the baby-boob connection is just something inherent. Maybe it's just comforting.

I try rocking some more, my eyes drifting shut as my mind starts to wander. I try to remember if she had this much trouble going to sleep earlier tonight, but I can't remember anything. Am I really that tired? I don't think I've ever forgotten performing our bedtime routine before.

My eyes open and I sigh. I can't remember because I wasn't the one to put her to bed tonight. Chandler and his mom did that.

And just like that, the entire evening comes flooding back to me.

Every horrific moment of it.

Though to her credit, Mrs. Bing did try a little with me after Katie went to sleep. The three of us sat in the living room for a while, chatting. I was content to listen for the most part, mainly because I was terrified of saying anything to earn another death glare from his mother. We got to hear a lot about her latest world tour—all the places she saw and the people she met—and Chandler filled her in on all of Katie's accomplishments, showing her the video of Katie's first word as often as possible.

Neither one of them mentioned their conversation in Katie's room. I have no idea if Chandler's words had any real, lasting effect on her. We could get up in the morning and everything could be fine, or it could feel like the Arctic out there.

I don't know that I blame her for the way she feels, though. Chandler is her son, after all, and she saw him go through probably one of the worst things a person could experience. She has no reason to trust me—she doesn't know me from Adam. She has no way of knowing that I'm just ridiculously in love her son and granddaughter and I want to be with them forever. She doesn't know that I would die for them, gladly, if I had to.

I just hope she gives me a chance to prove that I'm not going anywhere, and that I'm nothing like Corinne. I may not be Katie's mother, but I couldn't love her more if she were mine.

I let out a sigh and look down at Katie, her eyes still wide open. I brush a finger against her cheek and she tightens her grip on my flesh in response. That one simple movement causes tears to flood my eyes.

"Your grandma hates me," I whisper, feeling tears trickle out of the corner of my eyes, landing on Katie's arm before I can stop them. "I suppose it's only fitting, though. My own mommy has never been very fond of me, and now your daddy's mommy hates me. She just wants what's best for you, though, Katie-did, and I don't blame her. That's all I want, too. I want to make sure you're safe forever and that no one will ever hurt you. You're so special and everyone can see it. Everybody loves you, even my stinky big brother. After everything that happened before you came into the world, who can blame your grandma for assuming the worst about me? Who am I to her? Just someone who's pushing her way into your life, I guess." My breath hitches and I try to fight my tears. I hate crying in front of Katie; she shouldn't have to deal with anything heavy yet.

:"Katie, how long will it be before your daddy starts to think the same of me?" That thought kills me. "She's _his_ mommy, and what she thinks has to have some influence on him, too. I don't want him to hate me, too. I love you both so much. I don't know what I'd do without you." I cover my face with my hand as I try to hold back my tears, the other holding Katie tight against me.

This is the part I was really afraid of when I got involved with the two of them. I knew it then, too. I didn't want to love them and lose them. I didn't want to risk being part of their lives for such a short amount of time only to be torn apart when it all goes to hell.

I just never expected to love them the way that I do.

Katie makes a noise and I look down at her. Her brow is furrowed, almost as if she understands what I'm telling her. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I shouldn't put this on you. All you want to do is be a baby, right? That's all you should worry about." I lean down to give her a kiss and she sighs. "What do you need, honey?" I ask softly. "Do you need a lullaby?" One thing I've definitely learned the last couple of months is that sometimes the only thing that works for her is a song.

" _I've heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the lord, but you don't really care for music, do you? It goes like this—the fourth, the fifth, the major fall, the minor lift—the baffled king composing hallelujah. Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah_."

I wonder why I picked this song. I don't even know all the words that well. I only know it because it's in Shrek—a movie that Chandler claims, depending on the day, is for either Katie or Joey, but I've found him watching it on his own more than once. I suppose it does have a lullaby type quality, especially considering Katie's eyes just drooped for a few seconds before she made sure they were wide open again.

" _Maybe I have been here before. I know this room, I've walked this floor. I used to live alone before I knew you. I've seen your flag on the marble arch—love is not a victory march. It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah_."

Well, I guess that's why my brain went this particular song; one of those moments when lyrics perfectly matches what you're feeling.

Stupid subconscious. I feel like some ridiculous emo-kid.

Katie's eyes are shut, though, so it doesn't really matter what I'm doing to myself.

" _Maybe there's a god above, and all I ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you. And it's not a cry you can hear at night, it's not somebody who's seen the light, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah. Hallelujah, hallelujah_."

Her mouth is hanging open as she breathes deeply, her hand finally going slack against me. She _is_ a sucker for music.

" _Hallelujah, hallelujah_ ," I whisper to her. She doesn't stir. I start to hum the song quietly, hoping it'll keep her asleep. Light from a street lamp streams in through the curtain, hitting her face perfectly, and I'm reminded of the first picture of her Chandler sent me all those months ago. That was the first time I met her. In retrospect, I think I was so scared because I'd already gone past the point of no return. I only had to meet Katie that once and I knew that I loved her with ever fiber of my being, and I was scared that I wouldn't be enough. I still don't know that I am, but I'm going to do my damndest every day to make sure I try to be.

I see a shadow shift in the doorway out of the corner of my eye and I cringe. Chandler probably heard me through the monitor at some point and got worried. I don't blame him, but I certainly don't want to put this on him, at least not in the middle of the night. I look over my shoulder, my entire body jerking a little when I realize it's Chandler's mother. My heart starts to race and my humming falters for a moment. I swallow heavily, waiting.

"Is she asleep?" she finally asks in a whisper, taking a step into the room.

I look down at the baby, confirming that she's still out. "Yeah," I answer softly.

"Do you need any help?"

I shake my head, pushing myself out of the rocking chair. I ease Katie into her crib, running a finger over her cheek one more time as she settles. I don't want to be away from her, but I'm suddenly very eager to get out of the room.

Mrs. Bing comes and stands beside me, an awkward, tense silence filling the room. I turn on Katie's mobile, soft music issuing forth. I don't know what the protocol is for a moment like this. Should I stand here until she leaves? Does she want some time with her granddaughter? Will she think I'm being hostile if I'm the one to leave first?

There's not exactly a how-to manual for these sorts of situations.

"I don't hate you," she says suddenly, her voice quiet. My head whips up to her, but she keeps her eyes trained on Katie. "I'm sorry if I gave that impression. That whole situation with Corinne…it was bad. It was messy and it was horrible, and I'd be willing to bet you anything that Chandler has glossed over a lot of it. He doesn't like to think of it much."

"Oh." Really? That's all I can say right now? I suppose I'm not surprised that the thing with Chandler's ex was worse than he told me—it was months ago that I first heard the story, and it's never occurred to me ask about it again. What he _did_ tell me seemed pretty awful.

"I just don't ever want to see him hurt like that again." She finally looks up at me, her expression sad and haunted.

"I won't," I answer immediately. "At least not on purpose. I wish I could promise you something better than that, but know that I would _never_ hurt either of them willingly." I pause, taking a deep breath. "They mean everything to me."

She's quiet for a while and I take a step away, hoping to leave quietly, while we have this tentative peace.

"I didn't mean to make you feel bad," she whispers. "I'm sorry."

"No—I'm sorry. I didn't…no one was supposed to hear all that. I was just rambling."

She shakes head at me, disbelieving. "I've been horrible to you for no reason—I can admit that. You don't have to worry about easing my conscience. I may not trust you yet, but Chandler does. Katie does. That's all that really matters, right?" I shrug and nod, hoping that really is what counts. "And…you do love my son, don't you?"

"So much it hurts," I answer, feeling my chest tighten.

She studies me for a few moments before giving me a slight nod and a hint of a smile. "Go to bed. I'll see you in the morning." I take a couple of tentative steps backward, watching her, and she smiles at me a little more broadly. "I won't attack you the moment you turn your back, at least not a second time."

The corner of my mouth quirks up in a smile. "Good night, Mrs. Bing."

"Good night." I turn and take a few steps before she calls out to me again. "Monica."

I pause, turning back to her, my stomach reflexively dropping as I try to get myself under control. "Yes?"

"Cute panties."

I look down at myself, having forgotten I was only in my tank top and underwear. "Shit," I hiss, tugging down the hem of my shirt as I hunch over. It's completely ineffective. I groan a little—I _would_ be wearing a thong right now. Yes, it actually _is_ a cute one, and God knows it does things to Chandler that get him naked faster than I ever expected, but I don't think his _mother_ wants to see me parading around in it. "Sorry," I mumble.

"Good night," she repeats with a quiet laugh, turning back to Katie, and I dart out into the hall and back into Chandler's room.

…Our room? After all, that's what he called it earlier. Try as I might, I can't remember him saying it, but his mother sure as hell picked up on it.

Hell, half of my clothes are in his closet and bureau—all of my work and summer stuff, plus the bulk of my undergarments—my shoes are lined up with his, I have a jewelry box on his dresser, and it's been months since I last slept in my apartment.

I suppose calling it "our room" isn't that much of a stretch.

I slide into bed, picking up one of Chandler's arms to drape it over me. He breathes in sharply, waking up part way as he pulls me against his body.

"Everything okay?" he mumbles. "You were gone for a while."

"Katie didn't want to go back to sleep," I whisper. "I sang to her, she's fine."

"Mmmm."

I stroke his cheek for a moment before pressing my lips to his. He responds sleepily but enthusiastically, his arm tightening around me for a moment before I pull back, settling my head in the crook of his arm.

"I love you," I tell him, and even though he's almost completely asleep, he smiles.

"I love you, too."

* * *

*A/N…I'm always so reluctant to put singing of any sort into a fic. I'm so leery of getting into "songfic" territory. Granted, not all songfics are bad, but most are…lacking. Still, it's hard for me to not add musical elements to my stories because so much of my life and inspiration revolves around music. They're just really hard to work into stories without sounding really trite. But good god, the image of Monica singing that song to Katie at that moment wouldn't leave me alone. I'm very hopeful that it didn't come across as too goofy.

I must say, I loved your responses to the previous chapter. I love that no one seemed upset by Nora's behavior; I truly felt that would be the way someone in her situation would feel, and it's nice to know that I managed to write her sympathetically enough so that came across. So definitely, thank you for that feedback. It's extraordinarily helpful.


	26. Chapter 26

_I could die right now…I'm just so happy. I've never felt that before. I'm just exactly where I want to be._

* * *

I feel lips press against my neck and smile. Chandler's arm tightens around me, his hand spreading across my stomach. I let out a sigh and cuddle into him, realizing that my arm is stuck under his head again. He kisses my chin and lets out a sigh of his own. "Good morning," he mumbles.

I crack one eye open, glancing toward the windows. The room is still dim, gray light filtering in around the curtains. "Hardly," I answer, stretching a little.

He shifts his foot, his toes tickling my calf, and I smile to myself. Without seeing them, I can tell that our legs are woven together like a strange braid. His right leg is on the bed with my left leg tossed over it. His left leg is strewn over both of those and my right leg is on top of that. We sleep very strangely, but it seems to work for us.

I feel him pick his head up for a couple of moments before it settles beside mine on the pillow once more. "You're right," he answers. "It's barely five." He kisses my neck again, his lips lingering a little longer this time. "You know, Katie'll be asleep for a while still…"

I chuckle quietly, tilting my head away from him a little to give him better access. "Yeah, but your mother is just in Joey's room."

He pauses for a second before he continues, his fingers spreading out to brush the underside of my breast. "She'll never know. I can be quiet."

"But the question is, can I?" He stretches his head up, smiling at me as he captures my lips with his, kissing me slowly. He's too good at this; I feel my resolve starting to slip. "Honey," I say as I turn my head a little. "Maybe not this morning?"

He sighs and nuzzles my neck again. "How about a little fooling around?"

"I could be open to that," I answer, moving my arm from its prone position across the pillows.

He kisses slowly down to my chest, suckling at my clavicle for a few moments. He kisses my shoulder, his fingers gently moving the strap of my tank top out of the way. He moves down to the top of my breast and a shudder works its way through my body, my mind going hazy. He props himself up a little, watching me with heavy-lidded, lust-filled eyes. His fingertips gently trace across the top of my shirt, ticking my sensitive skin ever so slightly. Slowly, so slowly, he pulls the edge of my shirt down, exposing my flesh bit by bit, until my nipple springs free, perky and traitorously aroused. His eyes flick up to me as he moves his tongue over it, watching my reaction.

My eyes roll back as I moan quietly, my back arching.

In short, I don't disappoint.

He hums a little in the back of his throat, suckling at me, and one of my hands comes up to thread through his hair.

His touch remains mostly gentle, too, teasing and tantalizing, and I already know that I'm going to give in. He probably knows it, too, but he's being a gentleman and playing along.

He lifts his head, his hand moving to my tank top's other strap, gently moving it off my shoulder. His fingers slide over my skin there, too, and I see goosebumps pop out all over me. He grips the edge of the shirt, giving that side the same slow, torturous treatment before he frees that one, too.

"You have the world's most beautiful breasts," he whispers to me, draping himself partly across my body to reach the newly exposed skin. "They're so perfect."

"They're just boobs," I tell him in a strangled voice, something I've had to repeat often since we first became intimate.

He runs his tongue over that nipple, too, and I can see my flesh puckering in response. "Nothing on you is 'just' anything, Monica. You're perfect." His tongue flicks out and I inhale sharply. "And you're so wonderful." His teeth drag across me delicately, making my hips jerk in response. "And completely exquisite." His hand slides down my stomach and under my panties, stroking me so very carefully. "And I love you so much."

I tighten my grip on his hair and pull him up to me, fusing our lips together. "I want you," I manage to gasp.

"You sure?" He pulls back from me a fraction, studying my face. "Because you know I'm just always horny."

"And I always want you." I tug him back to me and he settles himself against me, his body still only partially over mine. His fingers continue their tender assault, sending shudders up and down my spine. I whimper for a few moments before I maneuver my hand down his shorts. He gasps into my mouth as I wrap my fingers around him, pressing his forehead to mine. He grows harder almost instantly, and I swear that I can feel the blood pulsating through his flesh.

He rolls off me for a moment, breaking the connection, and rips off his t-shirt, flinging it somewhere over his shoulder. Before I can move he has the hem of my tank top in his hands, dragging it over my head. He gathers me in his arms and buries his face against my chest. I bend my legs and push at his shorts with my toes, managing to get them over his hips and down his legs. I can feel his erection twitching against me insistently, and all I want is him, right here, right now.

He sits up on his knees, panting as he stares down at me. Three months of amazing sex—raunchy, tender, sweet, rough, dirty, kinky, gentle, and everything else in between—has caused me to completely lose any trace of self-consciousness under his gaze. He can't ever hide how much he wants me, and I feel nothing but unbelievably sexy when he watches me. His hands slide down to my hips, his fingers hooking in my panties before he quickly pulls them down my legs. He grabs the backs of my knees and I my breath hitches, knowing what he's about to do.

He drops down between my legs and starts attacking me with his mouth. I grab one of the pillows and shove it over my face as I try to muffle the low, keening wail that escapes me. My hips start to roll against him, quickly, my body humming with high voltage. He's so good at this part that it's ridiculous. I don't know how I have a shred of sanity left.

My thighs try to clench around him, my knees nearly crushing his skull, but he just pushes them down to the bed. I can barely thrust against him like this. It makes me dizzy, it feels so good. His tongue flicks over me quickly and my body shakes and jerks, not prepared for the onslaught this early in the day.

I'm surprised he hasn't gotten tired of going down on me, honestly. I've been with guys who do it occasionally, out of some sense of obligation or if they think they'll get a blow job in return. I've been with guys who did it early on, interested in getting me to orgasm at the onset of the relationship, but with no real concern about it once they were getting laid regularly. Chandler, though, seems to find great pleasure in it, doing it to me nearly every chance he gets. I guess it's part of the whole experience for him, and he swears that he likes it. He always looks pretty happy while doing it, so I suppose he means that. Hell, he's even willing to do it in place of having full-on sex, if the situation calls for it. Like, sometimes before he gets up for work but we don't have time for everything, he'll do this. When he'll let me, and when I have my faculties about me, I'm happy to return the favor, it usually being pretty quick on his end after all that. But I don't even know how many mornings I've woken up to his face between my legs, sucking at me gently in the world's most incredible wake-up call.

Just as quickly, his mouth is gone and he pulls the pillow from my face as he crawls up my body, lying on top of me. He kisses me furiously, his hips pushing against mine. I give him a shove and roll us over so that we're side by side, arms and legs tangled around each other.

"We have to be fast," I whisper against his lips. "And quiet." This is insane. His mother is really only maybe a hundred yards away from us.

Why does that fact make this feel all the more exciting?

"Okay," he agrees as he wraps his arm over the back of my thigh, his fingers finding me again, stroking less delicately now.

Everything inside of me clenches and I push myself against his erection, pleasure surging through me strong enough to take my breath away. I feel the tip of him at my entrance and his hips still, his lips pulling away from mine as we gasp at each other.

"Are you wearing your diaphragm?"

I shake my head. "No, not right now."

A shudder works through his body. "I don't know that I could pull out in time."

"It's not exactly the most effective method of contraception," I agree, pushing the hair away from his eyes. I take a few deep breaths and unravel my arm from around him. I twist halfway around and grab the box of condoms out of the nightstand, tearing one off the strip with shaking hands. I barely manage to hold onto the packet as he rips off the top, pulling out the flimsy little prophylactic. Refusing to pull apart much farther, we maneuver our hands in between our bodies, working together to smooth it over him. I swallow heavily before I put him in position once more, pushing myself down on him.

God, there it is again. We stare at each other for a few moments, our bodies shaking. Every time we make love, I get that same feeling of completion as I did the first time. It's intense and scary and perfect, and it always feels like the earth has shifted off its axis just a little bit.

I wrap my arm around him, my other hand sliding to the back of his neck, and we push our foreheads together as we start to move.

"Ohhhhhh," I whisper before biting my lip. He kisses me for a few moments before grabbing the back of my thigh, pulling my leg up until my knee is practically in his armpit. "Oh, God!" I dig my nails into his back as I feel him stroking against what has to be my g-spot.

"Shhhh," he teases, thrusting into me quickly, his strokes short and powerful, making my head swim.

My head falls back as I gasp, my arms shaking as I hold onto him. He latches onto my throat, his breath hot against my skin. His fingers spread out across the back of my leg before digging in, pulling me against him faster.

"Chandler," I whimper. My back arches and I gyrate wildly for just a few seconds before I fall back into our rhythm, pushing against each other quickly. "Ohhhhhhhhh, yes." That probably came out louder than it should have.

He arches away from me, too, the only parts of us touching are our hips. "Shit!" he exclaims quietly, and my eyes fly open. He's staring at me again, his expression contorted in a mixture of agony and ecstasy. "Yes, Monica, yes yes _yes_."

I untangle my arm from around him, dragging my fingernails down his chest. He shivers beneath my touch, his muscles twitching and jumping, and he stops thrusting all together.

"What's wrong?" I breathe.

"Too fast," he whispers, breathing heavily. I can feel him tremble inside of me and my eyes slam shut as I try to compose myself.

I roll my hips against his carefully and he groans, clamping his lips shut to stifle himself. I roll my hips again and he responds in kind, keeping it gentle.

But he's still hitting that spot.

My hand scrabbles at him for a few seconds before I manage to grab onto his back again. My mouth falls open as he moves. I screw my eyes shut and hold my breath, trying to contain myself, the noises I want to be making echoing in my head.

"Breathe," he whispers to me and I let out a loud noise, drawing in big lungfuls of air. His hips move faster and I mold myself against him, burying my face in his neck before I moan.

He lets go of my leg and hooks my knee over his elbow. His hand slides in between us and he rubs his fingers against me. My eyes fly open and I bite his shoulder as we thrust against each other faster. He hisses in pain as my teeth nearly pierce his flesh but he doesn't stop his movements.

"Chandler," I gasp. "Oh, please, _yes_. Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop."

"Kiss me," he demands, his fingers moving faster.

"Ohhhhhhhh!" My voice is high-pitched and breathy. I dig my nails into his back, moving against him harder.

"Kiss me," he says again, and I manage to drag my head out of the crook of his neck, kissing him sloppily. He changes to long strokes suddenly, his motions still strong and powerful. "Oh, yeah. Oh-oh, yeeeeeah."

God, I love hearing him talk during sex. It's such a heady sensation, but I don't know why. I guess I just like to know that what I'm doing to him is good and causing him just as much pleasure as he's doing for me.

I shift my leg up higher and, in a move I'm sure I'll pay for later today, I manage to get the heel of my foot near his shoulder blade, just barely pressing the tips of my toes against the bed for leverage.

"Monica," he gasps against my mouth. "Oh, shit, Monica!"

I can't answer. I want to, but this is so intense, so fucking good that I can't form any sort of coherent thought. "Ahhhhh!"

"Shh," he gasps half-heartedly, both of us beyond caring right now.

"Harder," I beg, tightening myself around him. "Harder, harder, harder."

I feel his muscles tense all over his body, his fingers rubbing against me furiously, and I bury my face against his chest. I pull myself against him as hard and as fast as I can. I exhale into his skin. Almost sobbing each time.

He shifts his position just a little, bracing his leg differently somehow and my eyes fly open. My entire body locks up as I pull my head back to stare at him.

"You okay?" he asks breathlessly, too far gone to stop right now.

"Oh, God. That's it. Ohhhhhhhh, yes, that's it. Moremoremoremore."

He grits his teeth, grunting as he thrusts, his face turning red with the strain. He's beautiful. He's completely and utterly beautiful.

He's mine.

That's all I need to send myself spiraling out of control. I spasm wildly as I claw at his back, trying to contain myself just a little. His fingers rub against me a few more times before he moves his hand, wrapping it around my back to pull me against him faster.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh GOD!" That was loud. I couldn't help it. I bury my face against his chest again, stifling my next series of moans just a little before he yells into my ear.

"Monica!" His body trembles against mine as he pounds into me sloppily, his hips jerking wildly. He hits all the right spots in me to keep me orgasming, my toes curling as I tighten my grasp on him. I close my eyes even tighter, so tight that colors start to flash behind my eyelids. I reach down and grab his ass, holding him against me so that I can ride out my storm.

I hear him make a few strained noises as he holds me, fighting the urge to call out to me, to the heavens, to anyone that'll listen that we've had yet another unbelievable orgasm. I push against him a few more times before my body goes slack. I feel completely boneless and lethargic just like that.

He thrusts against me still, making strangled noises, his entire body hard as a rock. I weakly lean up and kiss just under his chin, trying to tighten my limbs around him for a few more seconds. He grabs my hip, digging his fingers into me so hard that he's going to leave marks and goes still for a few moments before he collapses, breathing heavily against my hair.

I laugh weakly, gently stroking his sweaty back with my fingertips. "I should try to put up more of a fight next time, shouldn't I?"

He laughs breathlessly, wrapping his arms around me. "Yeah, you weren't that convincing."

"Seemed like a good idea at the time." Though, in my post-coital haze, I can't for the life of me remember why. Why _wouldn't_ I want to feel this good as often as possible?

"My mom's more of a night owl than an early bird, so we're probably good."

I cringe— _that's_ why. "God. If she heard any of that, I may have to kill myself."

He rubs my back soothingly, but it still sends little sparks through my body. "Hey, we're grownups. If we want to have sex in the morning, we can. It's not like this is _her_ place. That'd be different."

"Yeah, but would you want _my_ parents to hear us having sex?" He pauses, and I can practically hear him running that scenario through his head. "I mean, they like you and all, but they don't know that I spend more time here than I do anywhere else. They don't know that their little girl gets defiled on a regular basis, nor do they _want_ to know that. If my dad were to overhear us…" I shudder. "He'd probably come after you with a baseball bat."

He chuckles as he kisses my forehead. "What if we were married?"

I use every ounce of self-control I have to keep my heart from beating even more wildly than it already is. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if you were having sex with your husband, would that still be an issue for your dad? I mean, if it were legally permissible for you to do it?"

I shrug, still not really sure where he's going with this, other than I'm almost completely positive that he's not hinting at proposing right now. "Don't know. It's never come up. I don't imagine he'd be thrilled with it, but I suppose he'd find that marginally more acceptable. Let's hope that it's never an issue, though, all right?" I kiss his chest and work my way up his throat until he angles his head to kiss me.

Eventually, we come up for air, stretching our bodies as best as we can while still being wrapped around each other. He tilts his head, listening to the monitor, and shrugs. "Out like a light. You got another hour or so in you?"

"Of sleep?" I ask with a yawn. "Yeah, I think I could arrange that. You?"

He mumbles against my hair, smacking his lips, and I can't help but chuckle. I've been sleeping next to him for weeks now and I don't think I'll ever get over how he can close his eyes and just be asleep. I close my eyes, too, hoping sleep will take me quickly.

"No, wait," he says, sounding suddenly alert and I jerk in surprise, nearly smacking my head against his chin.

"What?" I groan. He can't possibly want to go another round, could he? I mean, I'd do it, but I don't know that my heart could take it.

"I love you."

Oh…that. I smile and press my lips somewhere over his heart. "I love you, too, Chandler."

He doesn't like going to sleep without telling me that he loves me. It's kind of great.

He tightens his arms around me and I sigh, letting everything about him engulf me as I drift off to sleep.

Until I hear a tapping at the door moments later.

* * *

*A/N…who doesn't want a little bit o' lovin' on a dreary Thursday? I meant to post this earlier, but work got in the way. Silly work.

It's possible my posting will be limited for the next week due to internet access issues, but that's not a certainty, so fear not. Just wanted to give you a head's up.

A couple of chapters ago, Isa mentioned that it was a little disappointing that Mondler wouldn't be able to do Mondler things with Nora around, and all I could was shake my head and think, "Oh, Isa." I wasn't sure about putting this in here initially, but, you know…dog's gotta hunt or some other strange cliché. If you have a tough time picturing these two in this *ahem* position, well, basically they're just all tangled up, limbs everywhere, all that good stuff.

I keep thinking that there's something I want to mention to you guys, but every time I go to write an A/N, it's gone. Ugh.

I will say that I recently finished writing a 10,000 word chapter, but I feel like I'll be breaking that down into smaller bits. Sometimes, I get myself in a tizzy wondering if a chapter is long enough, or worrying about breaking it into pieces before I ever start writing, and that's usually what blocks me, so I've been trying to just write and not worry about chapters and lengths and that sort of thing, or even writing it in order. It's been kind of freeing. I'm not crazy hyper-organized, but I do like to do things in a certain order and a certain way, but sometimes going against your own grain can help a whole lot.

And holy-moly—26 chapters already! I don't know how many chapters are left, either—I haven't bothered to try to count it all out. I'm not finished writing, either. I doubt I'll get to 200,000 words, but I think it'll come awfully close. Where does it all come from?


	27. Chapter 27

_Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage._

* * *

"Whazat?" I mumble in frustration. He doesn't answer me. His breathing is deep and even. I pinch his ass and he jumps, startled.

"Huh—wha—huh?"

"Whazat?" I slur again, not opening my eyes.

"What's what?" he moans.

There's another tap at the door. " _That_."

"I don't know," he answers with a sniff, pulling me closer. "Go back to sleep."

"Chandler? Are you awake?"

My eyes fly open, all traces of sleep gone in an instant. "It's your _mother_ ," I hiss, trying to pull out of his arms.

He cracks an eye at me. "So what? You think she thinks I have twin beds in here?"

"Chandler, for the love of God, we're _naked_." He looks at me blankly, head tilted like a puppy. "We kinda just had sex?" His eyes grow wide and we peel apart, our skin sticky, and we start searching for clothes.

"Chandler?"

"Uhhh, yeah, Mom, just give me sec, okay?" I cringe and he shoots me a concerned look. "What's wrong?" he whispers.

"Condom. It's still in me."

" _Shit!_ Sorry, Mon." He reaches out to me, and I'm assuming in his sleep addled brain it's to offer help, but I bat him away.

"I've got it." He hands me a tissue anyway, which I accept gratefully. Sex is so gross. If it didn't feel so god damn fantastic, I wouldn't bother.

"I can only find my shorts," he hisses, glancing over my shoulder. "Holy shit. How is it almost eight?"

My head whips around to confirm the time, as if he's lying to me. I feel him tugging on his boxers as my mind tries to catch up, trying to understand that more than two hours have passed since we made love. Not to mention that I don't remember the last time I slept until eight in the morning.

I swear I hear laughter outside the door. "Chandler, is everything all right?"

"Yeah! Yes, of course. You just startled me, that's all," he calls out, forcing cheerfulness into his voice. "Honey, I can't find any of your clothes," he whispers to me frantically. "I can't keep stalling."

"Oh, God," I groan, slinking almost completely under the blankets and pressing myself to him. Because that'll make me invisible.

"Yeah, Mom, come on in." His voice sounds oddly high-pitched right now.

The door creaks open and I try to actually disappear into Chandler. I've never been so mortified in my life.

"You know, honey, you could have just asked me to come back later," his mother says, amusement evident in her voice. "I would have understood."

Well, yeah, obviously. That's what two rational adults would have done. Instead, we behaved like guilty teenagers, trying desperately to pretend that we didn't just have sex.

"Uhhh," he answers eloquently, and I can feel my face heating up even more—her voice sounds like it's right behind me.

"Of course, you also could have waited until I _wasn't_ here to have sex, but I suppose that's beside the point."

Kill me. Kill me now.

"Oh, no, we didn't—"

"Chandler, I may not be as young as I used to be, but I _do_ know what creaking bedsprings sounds like. Granted, I would have preferred to never hear it coming from my son, but once I realized what was happening, I went back into Joey's room."

"No, Mom, _really_ —"

"There's actually what looks like a landing strip of condoms on the floor over here," she interrupts, her voice matter-of-fact. "I'm assuming they're not a decorating choice."

Well, yeah—yeah, those _would_ be on the floor, wouldn't they? We were in such a hurry to get one on that I never thought about them again after. We're definitely classy.

Chandler sighs. "Sorry, Mom."

"Don't apologize, honey. At least you're being safe." She pauses for a moment. "Is she trying to pretend she's not here?"

"YES," I exclaim, my voice muffled as I pull the blanket over my head.

"Well, if you two could climb out of your embarrassment for a moment and actually acknowledge my presence, there's someone here that wants to say hello."

"Dada."

Katie. I smile against Chandler's chest. Her tiny voice kills me.

Chandler shifts away from me and I crack my eyes open. I can see Katie grinning at us as she reaches for her father, her grandmother looking beyond entertained at our mutual humiliation. I clutch at the sheets as he sits up, holding out his arms for his daughter. He pulls her against his chest, and even though I'm doing my best to keep myself thoroughly ensconced in the blankets, I reach out and tickle her tiny, naked foot. Her toes curl against my fingers and for a moment, I can almost forget where I am.

"Good morning, little Katie," Chandler says, kissing her forehead as she leans against him. "I didn't mean to ignore you."

"You didn't," Mrs. Bing answers. "I went to check on her when I got up—well, I guess it was the second time I got up." She winks at us and I bury my face in my hands. "And she was up and at 'em. I didn't see any reason to get either of you up just because she was awake, not to mention that Katie and I don't get to see each other a lot, so it was nice to spend some time with her."

"Wow. Thanks, Mom."

"You don't have to thank me; I'm her grandma. It's what I'm here for. I figured you probably haven't had a chance to sleep in for more than a year, anyway. So, we had breakfast _and_ we've done a couple of diaper changes."

"Really?" he asks, disbelieving.

"Don't sound so shocked, Chandler. I _did_ manage to do those things for you on occasion when you were a baby."

"Sorry," he answers, sounding contrite. I hear Katie smacking her hands against her father's chest. "Oh, really? You had fun with Grandma, didn't you?"

"Eee bah."

He chuckles and I hear him kiss her cheek. "Mon, I think she wants to see you."

"She'll get over it," I mumble, knowing his mother is standing _right there_.

I feel Katie's fingers in my hair, my resolve melting a little. "She doesn't care that you're naked," he whispers to me.

"Oh, my God, please stop talking," I groan.

I feel a nudge at my shoulder and open one eye, finding Mrs. Bing with a t-shirt—Chandler's t-shirt, the one that he flung off a couple of hours ago—dangling from one finger. "Monica, I bought him his first condoms. I know that he's had sex before. There's nothing wrong with him sleeping with his live-in girlfriend. But I'm never going to be able to stop screwing with your head if you don't come out of hiding."

"It's true," he answers, completely skipping over the "live-in girlfriend" remark. "Being embarrassed about it is just fuel for the fire. Plus, are you really going to tell Katie that you're not going to hug and kiss her because my mother is perpetrating one of the most humiliating experiences of our lives?"

It's somehow comforting to know that, even though he sounds very calm about everything, this isn't easy for him, either. Slowly, I reach out an arm and grab the shirt, ducking back under the blankets to struggle into it in privacy.

"You're up early," he says, his voice just a little too casual. "I thought you were usually just _going_ to bed at sunrise after writing or schmoozing or…whatever-ing all night."

"I'm getting older, sweetie." I feel the bed droop a little, a sure sign that she's now sitting on it with us. I'm sure this could get even more surreal, I'm just not sure how. "I can't party like I used to, at least not every night. All this traveling wears me out. Besides, I _was_ up late last night, working. Monica and I had a chat, too." I sit up suddenly, tugging at the shirt with one hand, trying to tame my hair with the other.

"You did?" he asks, looking shocked. "How did I miss that?"

Katie holds her arms out to me and I pull her onto my lap. I try to sit her down for just a few moments before I give up and let her curl into my chest, her hand finding its way to its usual position in my hair. "It was when Katie woke up and wouldn't go back to sleep," I tell him, running my fingers over Katie's soft hair.

He looks baffled. "Yeah, I don't remember that."

"Some father you are," Mrs. Bing teases, nudging his foot. "Anyway, we talked for a little while. Did you know that Monica thought I hated her?"

He rolls his eyes, rubbing my leg reassuringly. "Can't imagine _why_ she would ever think anything like that."

"I'm not saying it was without reason, but I didn't realize I'd…been quite so nasty. I'm just trying to protect you, Chandler." He opens his mouth to protest and she holds out a hand to stop him. "I know, I know—I can't, at least not always. But I told her that I don't actually dislike her—I think I'm still getting over Corinne. I know that you've moved on, and with a wonderful woman." My mouth drops open in shock. A "wonderful woman?" That's what she thinks of me now? "But it's just going to take me some time to adjust. I know it's your life, and if you think Monica is good for Katie, I'm not going to fight you on that." She smiles at me, the baby still curled up against my chest as she plucks at my hair. "I'd say the two of them are a pretty good match."

I can't help but smile in return as I rub Katie's back. Honestly, I think Katie's been better for me than I ever will be for her, but I'm not about to quibble at the moment. If his mother has decided that I'm not the devil incarnate for right now, I will take it. I clear my throat and kiss the top of the baby's head before I turn her around, sitting her in between me and Chandler.

"Okay, well, if you were up so late, why'd you get up so early?" Chandler asks as he yawns, putting his arm around my shoulders as he slumps down just a little.

"Couldn't sleep," she answers simply. "I had an idea for a new book."

"A _new_ new book?" I ask, surprised. "Different than the one you said you were already working on?"

"A completely new book," she confirms. "I suddenly felt inspired."

"What's it about?" Chandler asks, looking genuinely interested. "I don't know if Mom's ever stopped working on one book to write another," he explains to me, "so this has got to be good."

"Chandler, hand me your phone," she says, holding out her hand. This is too much for this early in the day when so much has already happened—the conversation is bouncing in directions I can't follow. I can't help but wonder how many pots of coffee this woman has already consumed. He grabs the phone off the nightstand with a shrug and passes it to her, gaping when she taps in his pass code.

"How'd you know what it is?" He sounds more than a little miffed that she's hacked into his technology.

"What? Katie's birthday? That was a hard one to puzzle out," she answers sarcastically, and I bite my lip to hold back a snicker. For the first time ever, I see just where Chandler gets the sarcasm from. The apple didn't fall far from the tree. It's going to be interesting when Katie learns how to really talk. "Anyway," she continues, holding the phone in front of her face, "This new book is going to be a little different. Maybe less of a bodice ripper than my others."

"Well, won't your fans be disappointed?" he asks dryly.

"I think it sounds interesting. It's fun that she's branching out a little bit. Not that I don't love your other books," I tell her. "Honestly. I read a few of them long before I ever met Chandler. You can imagine how surprised I was to find out that you were his mother."

"Pleasantly surprised, I hope," she throws out with a quirk of her eyebrows. "This one is about a single father and his infant daughter."

"Mom," Chandler groans, "be serious."

"I am being serious. I don't know why I never thought of it before. A man, his baby, and his search to find a companion to accept them both."

"I don't think anyone'll want to read that," he answers, looking over to me for support, but I just shrug.

"I don't know, hon; I think it's just the sort of story I'd really be into." I look over at his mother, who still has the phone oddly in front of her face. "…Mrs. Bing, what are you doing?"

"Nora, honey. You can call me Nora."

"Uhh, okay. _Nora_." That feels weird coming out of my mouth. It'll definitely take some getting used to. "What're you doing with the phone? Are you taking pictures?"

"Yep," she answers simply.

" _What_?!" Chandler exclaims, making Katie jerk in surprise. He automatically yanks the sheet up to cover his chest. "What's wrong with you?"

"The three of you look so sweet sitting there. I just wanted to capture the moment."

"Mo-ooom," he whines and I giggle at him, jostling Katie a little to get her to relax. He scowls at me. "You only think it's funny because you're wearing clothes."

I shrug helplessly and shift, trying to smooth the sheets under my leg when I stumble upon my shirt. "Well, you're in luck." I reach down and pull out my tank top, handing it to him. The look he gives me speaks volumes. "Hang on." I tug the top over my head and shove it through the neck of Chandler's t-shirt. Then I pull my arms in through the holes and pull my shirt down to my waist, feeling for the straps for just a moment before I manage to get my arms through them and pull the tank up. I pause for a moment to make sure the ladies are in place before I push his shirt over my head and hand that to him instead.

He blinks at me in complete shock, his pupils actually dilating a little. "Whoa," he breathes as he tugs his shirt into place. "That was impressive."

I look down at Katie as she tilts her head up to me. "It doesn't take much, does it, Katie-did?" She grins at me broadly, tiny teeth scattered about her mouth. I stroke a finger over her cheek and look back up at Chandler. He smiles at me softly, pure love and wonder in his eyes. I want to tease him about him being so impressed with my t-shirt maneuver—something that pretty much any girl who ever had a stranger as a roommate in college can pull off—but I just can't bring myself to. He leans over and captures my lips, and for a moment, I simply forget everything.

Katie makes a noise, though, and I pull away, looking at his mother self-consciously. "Sorry," I mumble. How we managed to completely forget that his mother was not only watching us but also holding a camera is completely beyond me.

"Don't be sorry," she answers, turning the phone toward us. "There are a few in there that are a tie for best picture ever. You're ridiculously photogenic, Monica, did you know that?" I feel my cheeks heat up as I shake my head. I've never given it much thought, honestly.

"You really are," Chandler says absently as he takes his phone, scrolling through the new pictures.

"The three of you sitting here like this really is the sweetest thing ever." I feel my face grow even hotter—this complete about face of Chandler's mother is very disconcerting, especially under these peculiar circumstances.

"Monica, look!" He angles the phone so I can see it better, and I do have to admit that it's kind of sweet. Mrs. Bing—Nora—managed to capture me and Katie smiling at each other with Chandler looking at us adoringly. The early morning sunlight bounces off of Katie's eyes, making them sparkle, and she looks so much like her father that I want to cry. My heart flips. "Isn't that amazing?"

"Yeah," I whisper, clearing my throat. "It's a good one." I watch as he scrolls through the next couple—one of the two of us smiling at each other, Katie in the middle, the next one with the two of us kissing, Katie still between us looking much more interested in her toes than the people around her.

"Told you," his mother says. "Photogenic."

"Mom," Chandler says, pulling the phone to him, though I can see him tapping into Facebook. "Not that I don't appreciate this change of heart you've had since last night—"

"You're happy," she answers without hesitating. "That's all I need to know. I don't remember the last time I saw you smile like this, and when it comes down to it, all I can ask for out of life is for my son to be happy."

He looks up from the phone, and I can see that his eyes are just a little shiny. "Thanks, Mom."

I shift my attention back to the phone, watching him update his cover photo, surprising me by using the picture of me and Katie looking at each other instead of any of the others. "Really?" I ask softly, picking Katie up and settling her on our legs so I can scoot closer. "That one?"

"My girls look adorable," he answers simply and my heart constricts a little.

"Aren't you going to change your profile picture?" I tease, trying to lighten the mood.

He lifts an eyebrow at me, already sending the new pictures to me. "Not until I can find a better one."

Chandler's never been one to use his kid as his profile picture—he thinks it's kind of weird. I can understand that, and it's hell if you're trying to find a person and all you can see is a little kid who may or may not look like the person you're searching for. Instead, he'll use pictures of himself with Katie or just himself, and since we started dating, I've been making an appearance from time to time. For the last few months, though, even though he'll use a new picture for a day or two, he always goes back to one he took of the two of us. It was late and the light in the apartment was dim, and I'd fallen asleep on his chest while we were on the couch. All we'd been doing was watching a movie, but I'd just come off an open-close-open at work and I was exhausted. I'm smiling in my sleep, though, and Chandler held the phone just a few feet away from our faces, looking completely content with his lot in life.

He captioned it, "This is my happy place."

The first time I saw it, I cried, though fortunately not in front of him. I still get misty-eyed thinking about it.

The one I've been using lately is one that was accidentally taken of us at Phoebe's wedding a few weeks ago. She's the one who sent it to us, actually. It's mostly a picture of her and her husband, but Chandler and I are off to the side, smiling like idiots at each other as we dance, how much we love each other radiating off of us in waves. At least that's how it feels to me.

But that's neither here nor there, other than we've both become those sappy, sentimental people who post pictures of themselves with their significant others all the time. It's probably nauseating to everyone else, but it works for us.

"Well," he says, clearing his throat uncomfortably, "as much fun and as surreal as this has been, this whole camping out in on my bed and chatting thing…Mom, would you take Katie so we can get ourselves together? We'll be out in a few minutes."

"Of course." She holds her hands out to Katie, who immediately flops forward and crawls awkwardly over our legs to her grandmother. "Come on, darling, let's let Daddy and Monica make themselves presentable." She stands up and bounces Katie around for a few moments before she makes her way toward the door, pausing to help manipulate Katie's little arm into a wave.

As soon as the door closes, Chandler lets out a huge sigh. "I have no idea what just happened."

I laugh, wrapping my arm around his waist. "Neither do I. I'm just going to roll with it, though."

"Maybe we're having a very strange, combined dream."

"What, like we've _Inception_ -ed ourselves? Doubtful, honey." I lean over and give him a kiss before I pat his leg, giving him a push. "Let's get up."

He gives me a playfully grumpy look as he stands, stretching his arms wide. I crawl out from under the covers and start digging for the pajama bottoms that I couldn't find last night. "I love you," he says suddenly, his voice soft, and I look up at him, smiling.

"I love you, too," I answer as I go up onto my knees, holding my arms out for him. His hands slide down my back as he pulls me close, kissing me thoroughly. I feel him start to stir against my stomach and I pull away from him a little, breathing heavily. "Easy there, tiger."

"You're naked from the waist down," he whispers, his hands traveling further down, fingers gently tracing over my ass and thighs. "What else do you expect? Self-control? Not when it comes to you, beautiful."

I give his chest a gentle shove, making him step back from me a few inches. That was a mistake; his eyes grow dark and I can see his chest moving as his breathing grows heavier. "We can't," I whisper. "We really don't have time right now." Then why do I want to so badly? It's insane. It was just minutes ago that I was mortified that his mother knew we'd been having sex, and now I want to risk it all again.

"What about something to take the edge off?" he asks. His hand reaches out and his fingers slide in between my thighs, and he knows exactly how turned on I am right now. "I'll be fast."

I swallow heavily. "I thought you didn't like to do this part fast."

"I'd rather not, but I'm certainly willing if you are."

God knows I don't want to turn this down. "You promise you'll make it quick?"

He steps closer to me, our breath mingling, our faces so close that our noses touch. "Baby, I can make you come in two minutes or less."

That statement shouldn't send desire shooting through me, and yet…

"Prove it," I whisper, and just like that, he grabs the backs of my thighs and pulls. I go toppling backward, though he somehow manages to catch me before I hit the bed. He drags me to the edge of the mattress and I watch his face disappear, immediately reaching for a pillow. I shove it over my face as he makes contact, eager to see if he can make good on his word.

* * *

*A/N…full disclosure—a friend of mine posted a picture of herself and girlfriend on Facebook a couple of years ago about it being her happy place. That image has always stuck with me, and I'm glad I managed to work it into a fic.

Also, it's really fun to write these two as uber-horny. I mean, who doesn't like horny Mondler?

I didn't want to drag on the Nora disliking Monica thing forever, but I hope it didn't seem like it was resolved too quickly.

Also, I know there are a bunch of different versions of Hallelujah, but the one I used for reference was Rufus Wainright's.


	28. Chapter 28

_True love is not so much a matter of romance as it is a matter of anxious concern for the well-being of one's companion._

* * *

I kiss the top of Katie's head, smoothing down her hair, still delicate and baby-fine. She makes a contented noise, not struggling against me at all as I wrap my arms around her tummy. Her hands slap against mine a few times before she settles on my lap. Phoebe smiles at the two of us, reaching out to stroke Katie's cheek.

"You're so good with her, Monica."

I shrug, kissing the baby's head again. "Nah. She just likes me for some reason. Chandler says it's because I'm soft and squishy."

"He sure knows how to sweet talk a girl, doesn't he?" she asks, rolling her eyes, and I just chuckle. He's actually quite well-versed in the sweet talk department. "Anyway, I'm really glad you organized this." She pauses, snickering for a few seconds. "Organization—that's something new around here, isn't it?"

I look up at Phoebe and grin, turning my palms face up as Katie resumes her almost-rhythmic smacking against me. "No comment."

"Yeah, well, I've been to this apartment before; 'neat and tidy' weren't exactly in their vocabulary."

"Honestly? It's a nervous habit it of mine, and the first time I babysat Katie, I cleaned the place from top to bottom. Neither of them complained about it, so I just kept doing it. I do actually like to clean, though, so it's not too bad. But other than when Chandler's mom was here, I haven't _touched_ Joey's room. I'm not brave enough for that."

She shudders, looking a little grossed-out at the thought. "I don't blame you there."

"Anyway, it wasn't easy finding a day that everyone was either free or able to change plans, but it _has_ been fun, right?"

"Oh, so much fun," she agrees enthusiastically, grabbing her glass of wine off the coffee table.

At first, I felt a little silly suggesting some sort of game night get together to Chandler—it seemed so cliché that I figured he'd just laugh at the idea. Instead, he told me that he'd been thinking about something like that, too; he's met my friends, I've met his friends, but our friends have never met each other. We started trying to coordinate this before Katie's birthday, and finally, now that it's after Labor Day, we managed to get all of us in the same space. We decided on an afternoon instead of a night, mostly so Katie could be more involved, but it's getting closer and closer to her bedtime and everyone is still hanging out. Our two little groups of friends seemed to have meshed well, and it's kind of nice.

"So, how's married life?" I ask, standing Katie up on my legs.

Phoebe grins, stretching her feet out on the coffee table. "Better than when I talked to you a few days ago. Maybe it's my imagination, but it feels like being someone's wife gets better and better every day."

"It doesn't hurt that Mike's one of the nicest guys around," I answer, propping Katie up again after her knees collapse. "If you're going to be married to someone, he seems like a pretty decent option."

"Yeah, I think I'll keep him around for a while. At least until a shinier, newer model comes my way."

"Oh, of course," I answer, turning Katie around to face me. I shimmy her little body and she laughs, stuffing one of her fists in her mouth. "Always have to be on the lookout for something better. Right, Katie?" I lean forward and kiss her belly. "Right, Katie? Right, right, right?" She laughs again, wiggling as I tickle her. I pull her in a moment later, hugging her close. "I love you, Katie," I whisper. She kicks her feet up and down, trying to bounce some more. "You're too much. Go see Aunt Phoebe."

Phoebe holds out her arms and Katie goes willingly, happy to be with one of her favorite people. "I'm so glad she didn't forget me while I was in Europe," she says, her eyes lighting up as she bounces the baby up and down. "I was really worried she'd think I was a stranger."

"I've heard that babies don't really forget things like that. If they find a person they trust, even at a very young age, they always remember them, at least in some way. I mean, they can't really see the face when they're a newborn, but I think there's something about them that babies recognize—their smell, the feel of them, I don't know. Plus, it sounds like you spent a lot of time with her the first six or seven months—there was no _way_ she was going to forget that." That part is definitely true. The first time we met up with Phoebe and Mike after their wedding, Katie couldn't get enough of either of them. She honestly seemed thrilled to have them back in her life.

"Uncle Mike and I can't wait to give you a little cousin to play with," Phoebe tells her, keeping her upright. "You need _somebody_ else around, don't you?"

"So, the two of you are trying?" I ask, feeling excited for my new friend. I feel like I'm just scratching the surface of her life, but she did tell me that before she met Mike, having a family wasn't a huge concern of hers, nor did she ever feel like she was in a stable enough position to handle it. However, in the last couple of years, she said she's started to think that having kids and a house and a dog might be what she's wanted all along.

"Well, not really. Not yet, anyway. We want kids, but we kind of want to just be married for a little while first, too. Neither of us really want to _try_ try, you know? Unless it's absolutely necessary, we don't want to have to do the whole ovulation tracking, temperature taking thing. We're hoping to let nature take its course. I mean, if I get pregnant before then, so be it. We're not going to complain. But, we kind of figured we'd give it a year before we give it a go, with the option to renegotiate at any point in between, so we'll see. What about you and Chandler?"

I pause mid-sip of my wine, looking at her in confusion. "Me and Chandler what?"

"Are you two trying for more kids?"

I feel the wine lodge in my throat for a few seconds before it tries to come out my nose, burning and making my eyes water. "Excuse me?" I gasp as I cough. I glance over my shoulder and see Chandler giving me a questioning look, but I just wave him off, shaking my head.

"Katie's going to need a brother or sister at some point," she answers, smiling at the baby before she sits Katie on her lap.

"Okay, Phoebe? _We_ can't possibly try for _more_ kids because _we_ don't even have one child."

She looks confused for a split second before her cheeks turn pink. "I'm sorry—I just keep forgetting that you're not Katie's mother. I don't know how—I was here for that whole Corinne thing. You're just so at ease with her that…"

"It's okay," I answer, taking a careful sip of my wine. "I just wasn't expecting that. I mean, we do get that a lot when people see us in public, but I guess that's the natural assumption. But in answer to your question, Chandler and I definitely are _not_ trying for a baby. Katie takes up enough time as it is."

"Well, you know, it could happen anyway. It's not like—"

"I know, I know," I answer, cutting her off. "We usually double up on contraception, just to be sure. Unless we don't have time for multiple methods. You know how that is—sometimes, you're just in the mood and you've gotta get some."

"Oh, do I ever," she answers with a smile, looking far off and dreamy for a few moments. "But I never pictured Chandler as that sort of guy. I mean, not that I ever pictured him, you know, _that way_ , really, but he never struck me as Mr. Gotta-Have-It-Now, you know? He seems more like the romance guy, I guess, or the roll over in the morning and go for it guy, but—"

I burst out laughing, finally saving Phoebe from herself. "He's all of those things. He likes romance, I promise you that, but we do a lot of other stuff that probably can't be classified as romantic."

"Such as?"

I look at her dubiously. "Are you sure you want to hear about this? I mean, isn't he one of your oldest friends? Won't it be weird to hear about all this?"

"Oh, God, no. I've been curious about him for a while, I've just never been close enough to one of his girlfriends to think I might get an answer. You don't have to go into details or anything—you don't have to answer any of it, really. I'm just nosy."

I lean forward and whisper, "He's the best sex I've ever had." Her eyes grow wide and I nod. "Yeah. He's amazingly attentive and so _good_ at it." I don't know this woman all that well, so I really don't want to get too personal, but at the same time, I haven't been able to talk to anyone about this. "Sometimes, we do the whole candles and music thing, and it's fantastic. Sometimes we surprise each other in the shower and that's really fantastic. Sometimes we wake up early for it, sometimes it's in the middle of the night after we've gotten Katie to go back to bed, sometimes we do it when he gets home from work. There's no real rhyme or reason to it. All I know is that we can't get enough of each other."

"Really?" she asks, eyes wide.

"Oh, God. I'm addicted to him. That sounds bad, doesn't it?"

"No, not at all. I think it's great…addicted? Honestly?"

I scoot closer to the edge of the couch, leaning in toward Phoebe and lowering my voice. I reach out and cover Katie's ears just in case. "We have sex at least once a day, sometimes more. I want him all the time. I'd think I have some sort of problem except I've never wanted another person the way I want Chandler. It's just him. He's that good at sex. _We're_ that good at sex."

"Once a day? Really?" She looks down at Katie, who's giving us a confused look in return. "Is that possible?"

I shrug. "It has to be. I mean, I stopped keeping really close tabs on it—the number started to get too high in too short of a time. I guess there could have been a day or two that we've missed in there somewhere, but I think the days we do it more than once make up for it."

"What about during…" She glances around the room before lowering her voice. "Shark week?"

I blink at her a few times before a snort escapes me, and I clamp my hand over my mouth. "Yes, even then. I never thought I'd be into it, but all that additional—" I glance down at Katie and cover her ears again. "Spasming and contracting kind of helps things along. We usually do it in the shower then, for the sake of cleanliness."

"Wow. Even Mike doesn't want to do it then, and he's pretty adventurous. It doesn't bother me but it doesn't seem to do much for him." She leans back against the chair, looking amazed. "Addicted to Chandler. Who would have ever thought that about _him_?"

"Hey! That's my boyfriend you're talking about."

"I don't mean anything by it, Monica, I promise. I've just known him for such a long time, and he's usually pretty hard on himself about all that. I wasn't ever going to try him out myself, but, you know? I mean, you hear something enough times, especially from the source, and you start to believe it."

I shrug, pulling Katie to me when she holds out her arms. "I think it's just one of those things, Phoebe. It's like those people who say they're really good at singing only to be tone deaf, but the ones who say they can't sing usually have the best voices." I look around again, making sure to lower my voice. "And if this is bad sex, it's the best bad sex I've ever had. Hell, I bet he jokes about the size of his equipment, too."

Phoebe starts to nod before her mouth drops open. "No. He's not—is he?"

"He is…" My voice trails off. I don't want to tell her anything that'll be embarrassing to Chandler. Then again, most guys seem to like it when you tell other people good things about their junk. "He _far_ surpasses expectations."

She looks over at Chandler, who's now engrossed in conversation in the kitchen. "Well, all right then."

Rachel flops down on the couch next to me then, balancing her wine glass precariously on her lap. She completely bypasses me as she reaches over to Katie, tickling her side. Katie scrunches up bashfully, still not completely acclimated to her or my brother. "Hi, Katie," she says, her voice soft and high-pitched. I see the baby turn her head at the sound of her name, though she looks away a moment later. "Why doesn't she like me?"

"She just doesn't know you yet, Rache. Give her some time."

"How long did it take before she warmed up to you?"

I shrug, grabbing playfully at Katie's feet with one hand, trying to keep her balanced against my chest with the other. Phoebe answers for me. "Chandler said that Katie took to Monica immediately."

Rachel makes a face before taking a sip of her wine. "So what're you two talking about? I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Not at all," Phoebe answers. "We were just talking about men and their views on themselves."

"How so?"

"Just that mice among men tend to have delusions of grandeur, while the great ones always seem to give themselves underwhelming reviews."

She looks back and forth between the two of us, her brow furrowing. "Is there any reason we're using these euphemisms?"

"Well, several of the guys we're talking about are right over there, for one," I answer with a nod of my head in their direction. "Secondly, Katie is starting to understand more and more, and the last thing I want her to do is repeat something she shouldn't."

"Yeah, but even if she repeats it, she's not gonna understand it, right?"

"Not the point, Rache. I don't want to have to explain to her daycare or her father why she can suddenly say the word—" I cover her ears again for a second and whisper, " _sex_."

Phoebe giggles, grabbing a piece of celery off the tray on the coffee table. "I can't imagine that conversation."

Rachel laughs a little, too, before clearing her throat. "So, you were talking about men's tendency to exaggerate their…thing-a-dings?"

"That, and how some of them try to lower expectations unnecessarily," Phoebe confirms.

"Oh! That reminds me," I exclaim. "Endurance, too. The same is true about that. When they say they can go all night long, what they really mean is that they can sleep all night long, but if they say they're kind of a one-hit wonder, they're going to be able to last long enough to make your toes curl. Like Chandler." I glance at Phoebe apologetically, but she just shrugs. "Chandler told me that he wouldn't be able to last very long, but—"

Rachel groans loudly, making both Phoebe and me jump. "Oh, God."

All I can do is stare at her. "What?"

"Again? Do we have to talk about him again?"

" _Again_?" I repeat incredulously. "You don't want to talk about him _again_?"

She nods enthusiastically. "Yeah, if we could go one time _without_ talking about your boyfriend, that would be great."

I turn to face her fully. "Okay, what is your problem?"

"My problem?" she asks innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I pause, looking down at Katie. She looks back at me with her wide, serious eyes, so I give her a kiss and stand, moving over to the kitchen table where the guys are sitting and playing a couple of casual hands of Texas Hold 'Em. "Honey, Rachel and I need to talk for few minutes." I plop Katie in his lap. "You're up."

He grabs my arm as I start to walk away. "Everything all right?"

"It will be," I answer. "One way or another, it will be."

He takes my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing my palm. "Love you."

"Love you, too," I answer, and I can hear the others heckling him as I walk away.

"Oh, no, I love my girlfriend, I'm such a pansy," he tells them sarcastically; none of them have anything to say in response to that.

I take a deep breath and step up to the couch, tapping Rachel's shoulder.

* * *

*A/N…I hate posting on Fridays. They're the worst for reviews (people have lives, I get it), and it's terribly disheartening. You pour your heart into something and post on a Friday and no one bothers to read it. Basically, that's what caused me to stop writing Where Life Leads. Kept posting on Fridays and I wasn't getting any bites and it just kinda broke my heart and already weakened spirit, so…stopped. But, here I go, posting on a Friday. I guess I'm an eternal optimist.

Of course, though, only review if the chapter inspires you to do so. Seriously. It's just a strange correlation that I've noticed with Mondays and Fridays and how those days seem to get the least amount of traction.

Also…my stories are sappy. Not all the time, but I like fluffy stuff. Life is too serious, so I like to make my little fictional people happy and delightfully sentimental. If that's not good enough for you guys, well, write the stories you want to read. That's the only way to do it. Otherwise, and I mean this sincerely for all of those out there who keep posting, just be kind. Constructive is nice, but just saying things like "I don't like…" can actually do more harm than good. There's such a small community of active writers in this fandom, and I'd hate to see any single one of them leave because of feedback that's just too demanding. Not every chapter/story is going to have all of the elements that you want (and believe me when I say—you guys want lots of things, and there are almost as many things you don't want. It's hard to keep up, even if one uses requests as inspiration, which I often do), but please be appreciative of what these stories do have: Mondler. They have our favorite couple out in the world on crazy or mundane adventures, and it's awesome. Legit, I feel like the reason I'd stop writing fic would be because of you out there who are just too hard to please and are so unkind and not cool about it. Hell, I very nearly said, "Screw this" after some of the reviews of this chapter. It's tough on this end of the document. A lot of people are writing things very dear to them in some way, you know? There are often a lot of elements that come from hidden parts of our souls and psyches, and it costs us a lot to put it out there. I mean, it's tough to put something out into the void and hope for something that'll build you up and wind up with someone letting you know that it's just not enough. I mean, this is probably a personal problem, but it's been sitting wrong with me all week, so I wanted to put it out there. Mostly just to be kind to those few and proud who are still keeping Mondler alive. If something you read doesn't have every single part that you want, at least try to focus on what it does have. I mean, because that's still cool, right?

And, after I've been a total twat with saying all that, I put "You" into a fanfic contest on inkitt so, you know, go vote me and stuff. Go team go?


	29. Chapter 29

_I don't think we get a choice in who we fall for. I think we just do._

* * *

I cock my head toward the bedroom. "Will you come with me, please?"

"Ooo, I want to come, too," Phoebe exclaims, so I just shrug and stand in the doorway, waiting.

Rachel stands slowly, dragging her feet toward the bedroom like a little kid about to be dressed down by her mother. Phoebe, on the other hand, damn near skips over, looking giddy to be a part of this. Rachel gives her a strange look as I close the door behind us.

" _Why_ are you here?" Rachel asks, though I can tell by the way she keeps glancing at me that she's just stalling.

"I thought it'd be a fun way for us to bond," Phoebe answers, sitting on the bed. She runs her hands over the quilt and gives me a nod of approval.

I lean against the door, crossing my arms over my chest. "All right. Tell me. What's your problem with Chandler?"

"I don't have a problem with Chandler," she answers defensively, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. "You just talk about him incessantly, and it's _old_."

I gape at her, shocked. "No, I don't."

"God, Monica, every time I see you, it's 'Chandler this' and 'Chandler that.' He's all you ever want to talk about."

"That is absolutely not true! We hardly see each other anymore—"

"And when we do, he's all you talk about," she retorts, putting her hands on her hips.

"And when we _do_ see each other, and when the topic of boyfriends comes up in conversation, you cut me off every time I try to tell you about him."

"Oh, I do not." She waves her hand at me dismissively and I clench my fists as I mentally count to ten.

"Oh, you do, too. I'm in this amazing relationship, but my best friend doesn't want to hear anything about it! It's been this way for months. First, you gave me shit about spending time with him—"

"Well, it was like we never saw each other anymore."

"Oh, I see. So, I'm not supposed to spend time with my boyfriend, but it's okay for you to completely abandon me every time you date a guy for a couple of weeks? I'm supposed to be fine with you blowing me off at the last minute any time your latest guy wants to go on a date, but it's _not_ okay for me spend time with Chandler?"

"I didn't say _that_."

"Well, that's sure as hell what it sounds like! And I've _always_ been there for you with all of your relationships—every first date, every romantic gesture, the breakups, all of it, even when it included my own brother. But I try to tell you about something amazing that my boyfriend has done and you roll your eyes, you scoff, you mumble under your breath, you walk away—" She shakes her head and turns, heading over to the mirror over the dresser. "See! You're doing it now!"

She pauses for a few moments before she turns back to me, her face carefully blank. "Well, then by all means, _talk_ about your boyfriend."

I sigh in frustration, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. "That's not what I meant, Rachel. You're my best friend, and I haven't been able to talk to you about any of the incredible things that have been happening to me."

"You know where I live."

I glance over at Phoebe, whose eyes are wide as she watches us like a tennis match, but she says nothing. "Why are you being like this? What did Chandler ever do to you? What did _I_ ever do to you? I've always been there for you; I've always been happy for you when you're in a relationship. I've always listened to you every time you fell in and out of love with some guy but now…it's like you're a completely different person. I didn't even get to tell you about the first time we—" I pause, trying to be mindful of the crowd of guys in the other room. "The first time Chandler and I were _together_. We have always told each other about it, but every time I tried to corner you so we could spend some time together, you were too busy."

"Geez, Mon, I think you're exaggerating just a little—"

"Did you know that I'm in love with him?" I blurt out. "I mean really in love with him. The forever kind. I love him so much that it actually hurts." She opens her mouth to respond but I cut her off. "For the first time in my life, I'm happy. And, you know, I didn't realize that I _wasn't_ happy before. I thought I was fine, and I suppose if I'd never met Chandler, I _would_ be fine, but…he makes me come alive. I've never felt anything like this before."

Rachel looks stunned for close to a full minute before finally speaking. "I didn't know that."

"Of course you didn't know that! That's my whole point! If you'd bothered to listen to me once in a while, you _would_ know that. This has been killing me. You're my best friend and you won't listen to me talk about my boyfriend and it's killing me. I thought you would be happy for me. I thought you'd be happy that _I'm_ happy because that's what best friends do."

She takes a few steps closer, putting her hand lightly on my arm. "I _am_ happy that you're happy."

"Don't give me that crap," I answer, jerking my arm away from her. "If this is you happy, then I'd hate to see you pissed off." I sit down on the bed and bury my face in my hands for a few moments; Phoebe rubs my back consolingly while I try to compose myself. "Chandler is amazing," I finally say. I look up, surprised to see Rachel standing so close. She doesn't say a word, so I keep going. "He's absolutely incredible. He's the sweetest guy you'll ever meet. He's patient and caring and such a wonderful father. God, Rachel, you've never seen another person love his kid as much as Chandler loves Katie. And he loves _me._ Sometimes, I have no idea why he does, but he loves me. He puts up with all of my crazy, he likes to be around me even when I don't even want to be around myself. Rachel, for months I've wanted to tell my best friend that I've found the guy that I can see myself marrying, but you haven't been around. I know I want to spend the rest of my life with him—" My voice catches in my throat and I feel tears fill my eyes. "—And that's scary and huge and so important and I couldn't tell you any of it because you didn't want to listen to me. I've always listened to you talk for hours about Ross, and even recently, too. I listened to you tell me about how you got back together and the things he was doing to annoy you, the things that made you happy, all of it. For _hours_ , Rachel, and not for the first time. But I never once interrupted you to add in a story about Chandler. Remember that day?"

Rachel nods slowly—of course she remembers that day. I forced myself out of my little cocoon and got together with her, cell phones off, one Saturday. I had thought it was going to be great, that we could talk to each other about our lives and relationships. It wasn't long after the first time Chandler and I made love and I was nearly bursting at the seams to tell her everything. "I do," she whispers, looking anywhere but at me.

"Then you remember how, after something like two hours of you talking uninterrupted about my brother—which is always weird for me, mind you, but I listen anyway—I got to talk about Chandler for about five minutes before you started flipping through magazines." Rachel's face turns red, her expression ashamed. "Then you turned on your phone and you called Ross _while I was in the middle of talking to you_. Do you have any idea of how much that hurt me? Is it any wonder that I haven't put forth much effort to spend time with you since then? This whole thing with Chandler and Katie…it's the most exciting thing to ever happen to me, and I needed to be able to tell my best friend about it. But I couldn't." I look over at Phoebe and give her a small, watery smile. "I've been lucky, though, because I met Phoebe, who is a really great friend."

She reaches out and gives my hand a squeeze. "So are you," she answers. This isn't the first time she's heard most of this. Phoebe and I started spending time together not long after we met at her wedding, and it turns out that she was right when she said she thought we were going to be good friends. It didn't take long, either. She's very easy to talk to, and we have no problem chattering on for hours as if we've known each other for years instead of a couple of months. But talking about our relationships eventually bled into talking about Rachel, which led to me crying on Phoebe's shoulder one day about how much I miss my friend.

"Monica," Rachel says, sitting down on the bed next to me and taking my other hand. "Do you want to know why I haven't been able to listen to you talk about Chandler?"

"Yes, please! I would _love_ to hear this." Actually, the fact that she's finally admitting to her behavior is surprising.

"Because I knew I'd lost you."

I stare at her, puzzled. "What?"

"The first time you came home and told me you'd met someone, I knew you were gone. No one stares at their jacket for five minutes after meeting someone they only sort of like." I chuckle a little, remembering Rachel pulling me out of my trance all those months ago. "But I knew it then that Chandler was going to be it for you. I think I let myself deny it for a couple of months, but the first time he came looking for you—and he had Katie with him—the way you looked at the two of them and the way he stared at you, and how it felt like everything disappeared around you, I knew that it was just going to be a matter of time before I lost you for good."

"You're not going to lose me, Rache."

"But it's not going to be the same, either, is it? I wanted to get over myself, too, and I really thought I could but…remember your parents anniversary party?" I nod, dumbfounded. "I thought that you'd given me the perfect segue to be your best friend again, you know? I thought we'd get together and all that stuff, but…then I saw you two dance."

"Huh?" I manage to squeak. "What does the two of us _dancing_ have to do with anything?"

She laughs a little, shaking her head. "There's no way to describe it. Not really. It was you two were in your own little bubble, like the world around you completely faded away. It was like watching something out of a movie. The way you stared at each other, the way you moved in perfect sync…I was so happy for you, but so sad for myself at the same time. I know everyone has to grow up at some point, but I hated the thought of losing my best friend."

"So your answer was to make me feel like I didn't matter to you?"

"I never said it was rational," she answers defensively. "It's not like I was trying to break the two of you up or something. I just distanced myself, and hearing about how happy you are with Chandler just made me sadder so…I stopped listening."

"Why would you do that?" I ask in a whisper. "Don't you want me to be happy?"

"Of course I do! You deserve to be happy. I—I—I'm a horrible person, okay? Part of me kept hoping that you'd break up and we could go back to the way things have always been." I actually feel myself recoil from her before she grabs at my hand again. "I know it's terrible, but part of me just hoped we'd always be in the same boat, you know? It's not like Ross and I are the most stable couple in the world. I don't know if we'll ever get married. Hell, I don't know if we'll last through the week half the time. I jump in and out of relationships all the time, and you did, too, and it was nice that we had that together. We had our crappy first dates and early relationship excitement and post-breakup blues and we always, _always_ had each other. We had our place we'd go back to and we knew we could always count on that, and I wanted to know that we'd always have that.

"I know that makes me an awful person, and I feel terrible for letting the thought ever cross my mind. I feel like the worst friend in the world. I just didn't know you were going to find the one and be in this super-grown up relationship and move in with him and his daughter—"

"I haven't moved in with him," I interrupt, and both Rachel and Phoebe give me looks of disbelief.

"Well, you certainly don't live in our apartment. When was the last time you were even there?"

I realize that I have no idea. Aside from being aware that autumn is coming and I'm going to need my warmer clothes soon, I can't give Rachel an answer, so I just shrug.

"There are actual cobwebs in your room, Mon." I cringe at that thought. "I've put all of my shoes in your closet and you had no idea because it's not really your closet anymore. _This_ is your home now." She sweeps her arm around, gesturing to the room around us. " _This_ is where you live. Your stuff is here. Your boyfriend is here. No—your _family_ is here. And I'm really, _really_ happy for you because no one deserves this more than you. You're the best person I've ever known and you're so lucky that you've found this amazing guy that loves you as much as he does." Her eyes fill with tears and she sniffles, trying not to let the dam break. "I just really miss my best friend," she whispers.

I reach out and grab her, pulling her into a hug. Her arms snake around my waist and squeeze, both of us crying into each other's shoulders. "You haven't lost me," I whisper. "You'll never lose me. We just have to work on figuring out a new dynamic, that's all. I may not be home as much—" She snorts in disbelief and I correct myself. "Fine—I may not live there anymore, but that doesn't mean we can't still be there for each other. You can come over here if you want. We can meet up places and do things like we've always done. Those things just might include a one year old from time to time. Is that okay?"

"Of course it is," she whispers. "I love you, Mon. I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," I answer.

"Don't apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for."

I nod and we sniffle for a few moments, and it's so nice to have Rachel back.

"Guys," Phoebe says; I'd almost forgotten she was there. "I know this doesn't involve me, but can I get in on this hug?"

I hold one of my arms out behind me and she wraps her arms around the both of us, squeezing. I smile a little, and I'm sure that Phoebe and Rachel will wind up being friends, too, before it's all over.

"It's really nice to meet you, Phoebe," Rachel mumbles into my shoulder and the three of us laugh.

"Nice to meet you, too, Rachel," she answers, squeezing all of us for a moment before we let go.

"So," Rachel says, dabbing at her face, "you can see yourself marrying Chandler?"

I laugh a little, grabbing a few tissues off the nightstand and distributing them. "I might have thought about it once or twice."

"Once or twice a day?" she asks, giving my hand another squeeze.

"Oh, at least," I sniffle.

"Have you talked to him about it?"

"Oh, God, no," I exclaim. "There's nothing worse than someone desperate. I don't want to bring it up if it's not something he's thinking about."

"He's thinking about it," Phoebe answers, and my head whips to her.

"He is?" I ask in a whisper. "Did…did he say something to you?"

"What? When would he—oh! Oh, of course not, no." Phoebe waves her hand, dismissing the question.

Rachel and I look at each other in confusion. "Then how could you possibly know that he's thinking about it?"

"His aura has wedding bells all over the place."

I bite the inside of my cheek to hold in my laughter. "I didn't know auras could have things like wedding bells."

"Well, not literally," she answers with a roll of her eyes. "Auras have colors, obviously, but he has all kinds of marriage colors. It's all sparkly and shiny."

I expect Rachel to find it more unbelievable than I do, but she slaps my leg. "See? You should totally talk to him about it! It's not desperate to talk about it at all, but if he's thinking about it, too, then why not?"

I shake my head and stand up, walking over to the mirror to see how red my eyes are. "It's not as easy as all that, Rache. If we were just a couple of people, maybe I could talk myself into it, but with Katie...everything's different. He has to consider all the possibilities. If we got married, I wouldn't just be marrying him, I'd be marrying both of them, and that's a big step."

"But…you're living together," she says, sounding confused. "I mean—"

"Okay, I know that's what it looks like, but we're not _actually_ living together. I haven't moved in here, I don't get my mail here, we don't split the bills, none of that boring stuff that comes along with it. Yes, I realize that a lot of my clothes are here, as well as a few personal items, and I know that I haven't spent a night away from him in months, but we're not officially living together. It's not something he's asked me to do, and I would think that part would come long before a marriage proposal."

"Well, what's the difference?" Phoebe asks, coming over to the mirror, too.

"The difference is," I say, turning to lean against the bureau while Phoebe inspects herself, "that we technically have an escape route right now. _Technically_ , if we get in a fight or something, I can always go back to my apartment. It's not something that I've ever done, but I suppose we both know, at least in the back of our minds, that we have that safety net. If we go right to marriage without at least testing the waters for a little while first, if we don't have the option of taking a break from each other for a night if we need to, I think it could be terrible for us. I've had enough panic moments as it is, and those have been over things significantly smaller than marriage. I know that I'd wildly overreact to something stupid and probably ruin everything for us." I sigh, running my fingers through my hair absently. "Besides, I don't want him to feel like I'm angling for a marriage proposal, because I'm not. Yes—I would love to marry him. He's the love of my life, of course I want to marry him someday. The keyword, though, is _someday_. I don't want to rush things, I don't want him to feel pressured into something he's not ready for, and I don't want him to think that I'm putting up some sort of ultimatum. I just want to be with him. I suppose knowing that marriage is something he wants with me at some point would be nice, but I'm okay with waiting to find out. I can handle it."

"I couldn't," Rachel answers. "I know I couldn't. If I were in the same place as you are right now, I'd need to know. But you've always been stronger than me, Mon."

"I don't know that I'm stronger," I answer with a shrug. "I just think I can deal with the possibility of it happening one day better than knowing definitively that it's off the table."

"Do you really think that Chandler would say that he doesn't want to marry you one day?" Phoebe asks incredulously, and I just shrug again.

"I don't know. I'd like to hope that's not the case, but like I said…I could very easily ruin everything with another freak out. Even if he didn't take marriage off the table, I'd probably do a nice job of removing it on my own." I feel my pocket vibrate and I jump, having forgotten that I even had my phone on me. I pull it out, seeing a text notification lighting up the screen. Chandler.

 _Did you guys leave?_

I grin at the phone and Rachel says, "Oh, God. That's _him_." I look up, but this time her expression is teasing. "You've only ever looked at your phone like that because of one person, and that's Chandler."

Before I can answer, my phone vibrates again.

 _I'm absolutely dying out here._

It buzzes again and I chuckle to myself.

 _Seriously,_ _I can't host a party on my own. PLEASE get out here._

"Chandler needs help," I tell them, tapping out _Be right there_ as I talk. "I think I left him out there on his own for too long."

Before I can move to the door, Rachel has her arms around me again, squeezing. "I'm sorry I let it get as bad as I did," she whispers. "I really am happy for you—you know that, right?"

I hug her back, nodding. "Thanks, Rache." We pull apart and I open the bedroom door, ushering everyone out. I almost expect pandemonium, but everything looks calm. The poker game from earlier has wound down, leaving the guys just hanging around the kitchen table, chatting. Social situations tend to freak out Chandler, though, so I'm not surprised he was feeling overwhelmed. The only reason he agreed to getting everyone together here was because I promised that I would do the bulk of the actual hosting. Sequestering myself in our bedroom with Phoebe and Rachel would definitely be considered shirking my responsibilities.

Chandler grins at me as we make our way back to the living room. Joey has Katie on his lap, keeping her entertained. Phoebe heads over to Mike, ruffling his hair playfully. I lean against the wall and sigh happily. Rachel nudges me with her shoulder. "The love of your life, huh?"

"Definitely," I answer, watching everyone laugh at something Chandler says. "The two of them."

"Dada," Katie says, holding out her arms. As one, everyone around her says, "Awwwwww."

"That's so _cute_ ," Phoebe exclaims. "Do it again, Katie."

"She's not a party trick, Pheebs," Chandler answers, rolling his eyes. "She talks when she's good and ready, and not a moment before."

"Does she say anything else?" Mike asks, putting his arm around Phoebe's waist as she stands next to him.

"Not really." Chandler pulls Katie into his arms, bopping her around a bit. "We know she understands a lot, and she does her fair share of communicating with us, in her own way. She has a couple of noises that could almost be words, but she's only thirteen months. According to her doctor and all the literature, she's right where she needs to be."

"It's not easy when there's only one of them," Ross adds, smiling at the baby. "My son's an only child and it was really easy to cater to him. We got him into a couple of play groups, though, and that helped."

Phoebe holds her hands out for Katie and Chandler passes her off. "The daycare at work doesn't take anyone under a year old, so we _just_ got her in there. She seems to like it okay, but she's probably going to be bringing home all those gross little kid viruses any day now."

"Ma says she misses her," Joey pipes up, bowl of potato chips parked directly in front of him. "Anytime you want her to watch her majesty, she said she'd be happy to."

"Thanks, Joe," Chandler answers. "We'll keep that in mind. I like knowing she's downstairs from me during the day, though, you know? So if something were to happen, I wouldn't have to try to get out to Queens in a panic."

Katie whines a little, and Phoebe swings her back and forth gently.

"Chandler says 'we' an awful lot," Rachel says to me quietly.

"What?" I ask, watching as Katie holds one arm out to Chandler.

"When he's talking about things to do with his daughter. You know; like _we_ got her into daycare."

"Does he?" I answer distractedly as Chandler takes a step back, trying to force himself not to grab for Katie. "I hadn't noticed."

Katie whines a little louder, her face crumpling a bit, and I feel my heart break. "Why won't he hold her?" Rachel asks, probably able to feel the tension coming off of me in waves.

"We're trying not to give into her demands all the time. She gets her way most of the time, like it's her fault, right? She's a baby. If she cries, someone holds her, if she points, we fetch. We're just trying to give it some time in between the start of the complaining before we comfort her. It's mostly so she can begin to learn that she can't get everything that she wants the moment she wants it, but it's also to help us try to learn when something is urgent, or when she's just cranky."

"How's it going?"

Chandler looks at me and cringes, and I know this is killing him. "It's torture. It's hard not to respond to every noise she makes, and it's even worse when she's looking right at you, crying." I look back to Katie, whose face is still scrunched up as Phoebe takes her a few paces out of the kitchen, hoping to distract her. "Of course, there are times like right now where she _looks_ like she's crying, but really she's faking it. It can turn into tears sometimes, but other times we can distract her and she'll be fine." I check my phone, giving us another minute at best before one of us swoops in. "It's getting late for her, plus there's been a lot going on all day. She's probably just tired."

Katie sees me, her arms reaching out as her face turns red, big tears spilling down her cheeks. Before I can make a move, her little voice rings out.

"Mama!"

I freeze. Aside from the baby's sobbing, the entire apartment is silent.

My heart starts to jackhammer. She couldn't possibly have said what it sounds like she said…could she?

"Mama!" No—that is indeed what she said. Katie's second word, in front of all these people, is "Mama." She stretches out to me, her tears and distress genuine, and I feel all eyes on me as I walk over to Phoebe, Katie nearly throwing herself out of her aunt's arms and into mine. She buries her face in my neck and grabs my hair, her breath hitching as she cries.

I look up at Chandler; his eyes are as wide as saucers, but other than that his face reveals nothing.

I have no idea what to say—how does one even begin to respond to something like this? Rubbing Katie's back as I try to soothe her, I turn away from the rest of the room and, as quickly as possible, disappear into Katie's nursery.

* * *

*A/N…that last part, with Katie calling Monica "Mama?" Yeah, that was part of the original story idea, too. More than one of you have mentioned that you wanted this to happen, and all I could do was bite my tongue because I _knew_ it was already happening. And don't worry—I won't leave this dangling out there. There'll be a resolution to this moment in their lives.

I should have written this last night, when I had thoughts, instead of waiting until the morning. Instead, I'm up early after having been on vacation for more than a week (vacation in my living room—I know how to have an exciting life, right?) and I'm pouting because I have to go to work in the dark. All I really want to say is don't be a dick. I mean that as a life philosophy for myself, too. But don't treat people or talk to people in a way that you wouldn't want to be treated yourself. You know how sometimes some creepy guy hits on you, then gets mad and calls you a bitch when you turn him down? Kind of like that. Like in my previous A/N, if you were in my place, would you be into someone mean-spiritedly telling you the things they don't like about your work? Probably not. So, essentially, think before you speak, but in all aspects of life. I'm sure that's still offensive to some, but I kind of feel like I have the right to stand up for myself.

Anyway, I'm hoping I can get this story finished before January. I haven't written in probably two weeks, which is weird. I'm sure inspiration will strike at work, just when it shouldn't.


	30. Chapter 30

_It scares me how hard it is to remember life before you. I can't even make the comparisons anymore, because my memories of that time have all the depth of a photograph. It seems foolish to play games of better and worse. It's simply a matter of is and is no longer._

* * *

I sit on the couch in the living room, staring at the wall in front of me.

Mama. Katie called me Mama.

I still haven't figured out how to process this.

I can't even imagine the things running through Chandler's head right now. It can't possibly be anything good.

But I don't know why she did it. I have no idea why should would call me that. We don't ever use anything like "mommy" or "mama" around her. Aside from the occasional person who meets her and sees her get fussy saying something like, "She just needs her mommy," I'm always very cognizant of the fact that I call myself Monica in front of Katie. Nothing else. Aside from Chandler calling me "Mon" from time to time, that's what he calls me in front of her, too.

I stayed in Katie's room for as long as I could, but when I came back to the "party," people were still standing around awkwardly, smiling at me uncomfortably. I suppose that was fair—I was completely at a loss myself, so how could I blame them for not knowing how to react?

I guess Chandler could have ushered everyone out, but he seemed just as shocked as I was. What killed me was that he hardly looked at me after it happened.

However, I'm sure it didn't help that Katie waffled between truly distressed and absolutely fascinated with her new word, because she wouldn't stop saying it as I tried to get her to settle down for bed. First, she clung to me like a tiny vine, crying, "Mama," as she wept. When I finally got her to calm down enough to go into her crib, she just kept saying it. I know how thin the walls are in this apartment—there's no doubt that everyone else heard her, too.

I really just don't know what to do.

Chandler has been busying himself for a while, avoiding me. I spent a lot longer cleaning the kitchen and living room than I needed to, also, to avoid the conversation we need to have.

I run my hands over my face a few times, taking deep breaths. I'm trying not to panic. Oddly enough, I feel more panicky about Chandler's reaction than the fact that Katie's calling me…that word. A few months ago, I would have thought I was spending too much time with her, and maybe that's true, but it's all been at his request. He's the one who wanted me to bring clothes over as soon as we slept together so that I wouldn't have to leave. He's the one who encouraged me to stay with him. He asked me to spend time with Katie, and he doesn't seem to at all mind me being around in the middle of the night when I get up with her so he doesn't have to. If I'm spending too much time with her, I'm certainly not entirely to blame for it.

I hear a door click and look up, seeing Chandler finally walking out of the bedroom. Without a word, he pads over to the couch and sits down next to me. The relief I feel at that one gesture is enormous. He's not sitting across the room, he's not even sitting on the other end of the couch. He's next to me, where he usually is. That has to be a good sign, right?

"Well," he finally says, "that was weird, wasn't it?"

I let out a laugh, completely caught off guard, as a couple of tears sneak out of my eyes. "Yeah, I guess it was."

"I really wasn't expecting that."

"Neither was I." I turn sideways on the couch so I can see him better. "Chandler, you know I didn't teach her that, right? You know I would _never_ —"

"I know," he answers, putting his hand on my knee. "I do. And even if, for some reason, I ever questioned that, the look of shock on your face would have alleviated any doubts." He sighs, looking dazed. "I guess the question is, _how_ did she learn it? Someone must have been teaching her somehow. She's a smart little kid, but I don't think she's capable of just pulling a word out of her ass like that, at least not to say it and mean it. I mean, it's one thing for her to babble on and sometimes say things that are actually words, but for her to look at you and say 'mama' like that…I don't know think she's capable of doing that by accident."

I shrug helplessly, completely at a loss. "I don't know, Chandler. It's not like someone would be trying to coach her. She's just a baby."

"No, I wouldn't think that, but…I don't know, what if someone at her daycare is saying it?"

"Why would they do that? They all know that I'm not her mother."

"Well, yeah, all the regulars, but sometimes they have subs. They have part-timers who might not know about it, so maybe they're saying it to her innocently. I mean, look at what you do when I get home from work." I stiffen, feeling defensive for no reason, but he doesn't seem to notice. "I walk in the door and you point at me and say, 'There's Dada,' and you don't even think about it, right? Who's to say that someone doesn't unknowingly say the same thing to her when you pick her up in the afternoons?"

"I guess that's true," I answer, mostly to myself, though I really have no idea. I've never heard one of the people who work in the daycare at Chandler's office call me that, but that room is usually really noisy by that point, and all I ever really focus on is the way Katie's face lights up when she sees me. I suppose it's entirely possible that someone's saying "There's Mama" to her, too. When we checked out the daycare facility a couple of months ago, we made sure they knew that I'm not Katie's mother, even though Chandler assured them that I had the same rights to pick her up and drop her off as he does without waiting for an emergency call. They were all made aware that I get off work earlier than he does and would be picking her up in the late afternoon most days, and that it was fine. Joey's still the one on emergency standby.

I guess it's also not impossible that she hears other little kids saying "mama" and has picked up on it, though the odds seem impossibly slim that she'd then look directly at _me_ and call _me_ that and no one else. Still—it's a possibility.

"You're not mad at me, right?" I ask in a whisper, feeling my heart hammer.

"What?" he asks, looking at me in surprise. "Monica—no. No, of course I'm not mad at you." He grabs my feet and pulls them across his lap. Then he angles his body toward me so we're mostly facing each other. "This is just one of those things."

"Okay. Okay, it's just that you've been avoiding me since it happened and I didn't know what to think."

"I'm sorry," he answers immediately, rubbing my leg consolingly. "I'm just an ass. I've been trying to process all of this, you know? I know I'm giving Katie too much credit, but it's almost like she planned this. We never have big groups of people over—most of the time, it's just us. She could decide to speak any time she wants, but she did it front of a bunch of people, like she's forcing our hand or something. But I know she's just a baby—I know she can't do anything like that yet. She said what she said because it's what she needed to say at that moment."

"You know," I begin, reaching out to tentatively run my fingers through his hair. "She could have been trying to say 'Monica.'"

He quirks his eyebrow at me in disbelief. "Yeah, right, Mon."

"No, think about it. There's no way she can say my name right now, but she does hear it all the time. She knows who I am, and she probably knows by now that I have a harder time resisting her than you do, and you weren't giving into her right then so her next step would be to turn to me." He opens his mouth, but I press on. "Think about it—if you were a year old and didn't have a fantastic grasp on words yet and you wanted to say 'Monica,' wouldn't it maybe come out something like, 'Mama?' I mean, it doesn't seem like that much of stretch when you really consider it. Monica, Mama, Monica, Mama. She wouldn't be able to put together something like 'Ma-nah' or even 'Ma-ca,' but 'Mama' would just roll right off her tongue." I deflate suddenly, his lack of reaction worrying me. "I'm grasping at straws, aren't I?"

He shrugs, giving my leg another squeeze. "Maybe not. You could be on to something. She really _could_ be trying to say 'Monica.'"

"Right," I agree, probably a little too enthusiastically. "It's just a really big word for someone so little." I want to add more, but I force myself to shut up. If I don't, I'll probably manage to completely talk myself out of this relationship, otherwise.

"So, I guess, if she keeps saying it, we'll just reinforce it with 'Monica'? That way she'll start to make the association between who she means and what she's saying?"

"Exactly. If it wasn't just a thing she did for tonight, we'll make sure we correct her, same as when she asks for a 'buh-buh' and we tell her it's a bottle. She just needs us to help her out with this." I hope.

He leans toward me and presses a kiss against my cheek, resting his forehead against my temple for a few moments. "Here's the thing, though—I don't know that I'm really opposed to all this."

I jerk back from him, shock probably written all over my face. "What?! Chandler, you have to joking."

"Well, what's so wrong with it? She's little and she doesn't understand everything yet and—"

"And that's all the more reason for us to make sure _we_ explain it to her. It's our job as her—" I cut myself off, realizing just in time that I was about to say "parents," and that would kind of negate my entire point. There's no way he could have missed that one, and I can't help but wonder how long he'll let it go without commenting on it. "As adults to teach her the things she needs to know. We're supposed to teach her right from wrong and good from bad and all that stuff."

"I don't think this is as simple as right and wrong or good and bad, Mon," he answers tiredly. "I certainly don't want her to get the idea that the word is at all bad. I just don't know that her calling you 'Mama' is the worst thing—"

"Do you really need me to remind you of the many ways this could actually be horrifically damaging?" I ask incredulously. "Because I'll do it. I know you know this song by heart by now, but if you need me to sing it again, I will. I mean, if something happens and we break up, where will she be? Not to mention how much it would crush my soul—"

"I know, I know," he answers, cutting me off. "We've been over this at least a dozen times. We both know how much our relationship going south could hurt Katie; trust me, I think about it all the time. I never want it to happen, either, but…" He shakes his head, letting out a quiet little laugh. "I really like the idea of her calling you 'Mama.' She has no reason to think that you're _not_ her mother, and don't try to tell me that's not true. She may not know what a mother is but she definitely knows what a mother does and feels like, and that's because of you." I try to shake my head but he ignores me. "You know it's true, Monica. You love her unconditionally."

I shrug, looking away. I _do_ love her unconditionally, but I think most people who meet her feel that way. I don't think there was anyone in the apartment today who didn't love her unconditionally—what sort of stipulations would one put on a baby, anyway? I'll love you as long as you don't cry, as long as you don't puke on me? Joey, Phoebe, and Mike have known Katie her whole life and love her to pieces. I don't know if there's any way to deny it, though, that I sort of _have_ been her mother the last few months. Or at least a mother-figure. I knew going into this relationship with them that it was a possibility—hell, Chandler never made it a secret that he was ultimately looking for someone to be Katie's mom. I knew then that it was a big deal, and I know now that it's even bigger than I ever could have imagined.

"Hey," he says softly, touching my hand. "I know this isn't resolved yet. I know we're going to have to play it by ear until we find out what she says the next time she sees you, but for the rest of the night, can we just enjoy that she said her second word?" I feel a grin tugging at the corners of my lips and he smiles in response. "Please? I mean, she looked at you, reached for you, and asked for you. That's huge."

"I guess it is kind of a big deal," I answer, turning my hand over so his fingers can slide between mine.

"It's a really big deal," he corrects, giving my hand a squeeze. "She hasn't been interested in saying much of anything since, 'Dada,' and now she can ask for you, too. I think it's great. I'm so proud of my little girl." His eyes start to look watery so I immediately reach out and gather him in my arms.

"I'm proud of her, too," I answer quietly, kissing the top of his head. "But I wish she could stay a baby forever."

He tightens his arms around my waist. "God, me, too. I will never be ready for her to grow up. I don't want to have buy a shotgun and sit by the door to keep boys away."

"What if she's into girls?" I ask, kissing his head again.

"The shotgun won't care—it'll keep away everyone." He shudders, pulling me closer. "God—I just pictured her dressed up and going to her prom. I can't handle that."

I smile, running my fingers gently up and down his arm. "She's going to be such a gorgeous teenager, though. You can already see it."

"All right, all right, let's just focus on her new word, okay? Everything else is too much."

"I know, honey. I know."

"You're going to have to keep me in line, though," he warns me. "When she's older and is the bane of my existence and won't stop growing up. I need you to make sure that you let me let that happen."

"I'll do my best," I whisper. I hope like hell I'm around to see all that. As painful as it is to think about this perfect little baby becoming an adult, I hope I never have to miss a moment of it.

* * *

*A/N…I feel like I alienate people, but I just don't feel like I should have to apologize when someone else behaves rudely, you know? Someone isn't cool about something, and I call that behavior out, and it's like I should apologize for my reaction to their behavior. Whatever, man. I'd rather people dislike me for being who I am than like me for being someone I'm not. People just can't handle honesty or being told they've done something improper; then, people pout because the truth shows them something they don't like about themselves. It's sad, but life is going to be a lot more brutal than any of my author's notes ever could be.

That said, I do still appreciate all of your feedback. There's still tons of support for this story, and that's awesome, especially because I feel like I'm dragging it out forever. I just don't want to post so much that I get to the point where I'm caught up to my present position and then leave everyone dangling while I try to finish this. Thank you so much for hanging in there!


	31. Chapter 31

_Love consists of not looking each other in the eye, but looking outwardly in the same direction._

* * *

Chandler squats down, holding his hands out as he grins. "Come to Daddy, Katie. Come on."

Katie looks up at him from her position on her knees, bright-eyed with a matching grin. "Dada," she answers, gripping onto my jeans with her tiny but strong fingers.

"Come on, sweet cheeks, you can do it." He smiles at her encouragingly and I give her little butt a pat.

She swivels her head around to me and I nod at her. "Go on, Katie. Go see Dada."

I feel her brace against my knee and push, her little tongue poking out between her lips as she stands on shaky little legs. With very slow, delicate steps—more like someone walking very deliberately high heels than a typical wobbly baby—she makes her way to Chandler. His grin grows wider with every step until her arms go out, wrapping around his neck and she collapses against him. I clap my hands for her, smiling so hard that my face hurts.

Finally— _finally_ —Katie has decided to try walking. It took some doing—no, it took a lot of doing—to get her past the point of crying every time someone let go of her, but once she realized she was going to be okay if she fell, she took bigger and bigger risks until she finally let go of my fingers one day and carefully toddled over to her father. She started crying almost immediately after, but that was mostly because Chandler and I couldn't stop yelling for her in our excitement and we scared her.

Slowly but surely, though, she's getting the hang of it. If she tries her hand at running, it's with very awkward, bow-legged steps, and it looks almost nothing like running, but she does what she can. When she walks, though, it's delicately, steadily, as if she thinks that if she _has_ to walk, she's going to do it right.

"Oh, Katie, Katie, Katie," Chandler says, hugging her back. "That's my big girl." He turns her toward me and points her in my direction. "Can you go see Monica?"

Big smile still spread across her face, she just as carefully makes her way back to me. I hold out my arms for her, and it's a struggle to stay seated. It's not that I think she can't do it without me, because she obviously can, it's just that I don't want her to have to. I'm probably just as much in denial as Chandler is about her growing up and I want to keep her a baby forever.

"Mama."

Katie's itty bitty voice pulls me out of my reverie and I smile at her even more broadly, my vision going a little hazy. I haven't been able to get used to that, and it makes my heart feel like exploding every time she says it. We're still trying to reinforce calling me "Monica" when she says it, but either she honestly thinks that's what she's saying, or she knows the difference and just doesn't care.

Either way, I never knew that hearing someone call me "Mama" would be the most wonderful thing in the world.

Katie stumbles somehow, her knees giving out or her feet not moving properly and I damn near dig my fingers into the ground to keep myself from launching at her to break her fall. She has to know that it's okay for her fall and get back up. That part is probably easier on her than it is on Chandler or me.

Katie crawls to my foot and grabs on, but instead of just crawling the rest of the way toward me, she pushes herself to her feet again, looking like a tightrope walker trying to find her balance. A grin breaks out over her face once more as she realizes she only needs a few more steps to get to me.

"Come to Monica," I say softly. "I've got you, honey."

"Mama," she says again as she takes the last few steps and collapses against me.

I wrap my arms around her, breathing in her sweet scent. "Monica loves you, Katie."

She says nothing, not surprisingly, but sighs into my neck. Her chilly little fingers miss a few times before finding my hair and gripping it tightly. Reluctantly, I pull her away from me and kiss her chubby cheek. I pull her little hat down more firmly on her head. The tiny corduroy jacket that I bought for her that she'll no doubt grow out of in about a week is still fastened around her pudgy belly and her mittens are still clipped to her sleeves. I take her hands in mine and bring them to my mouth, breathing warm air over them. Her knees collapse again and Chandler appears behind her, immediately pulling her back into a standing position.

"Think it's getting too cold?" he asks, going through the same routine I just went through with her clothes.

"Soon," I answer, giving her hands another rub. "She'll either have to put on her mittens or we'll have to take her home."

"What do you think, Katie?" he asks, moving to squat next to her. "Do you want to play for a little longer?"

She looks at him, her eyes wide, for a few moments before turning to me. I smile at her enthusiastically, nodding a little. "Ba!" she finally exclaims.

" _Ball_ ," Chandler corrects, patting the ground near us until he produces one of her squishy little toys. "This is a _ball_ , Katie. Can you say _ball_?"

"Play" and "ball" have become interchangeable in her head, but at least she has the concept down.

"Ba!" she exclaims again, clapping her hands. Chandler tosses it gently onto the blanket we have spread out on the ground and she staggers after it a few steps before dropping to her knees and grabbing for it.

With a sigh, Chandler sits next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. I turn my face and rub my nose against his cheek before pressing a kiss to his jaw. He pulls me against his side, both of us laughing a little as Katie shoves part of the ball into her mouth. The tip of her little nose is pink, her cheeks rosy, but she's having such a good time that it's hard for us to want to drag her back to the apartment. Somehow, it's early October already. The day has been fairly warm, all things considered, and we figured it'd be our last chance to really play outside with Katie for a while, at least without bundling her up like until she looks like a little starfish. All the bright colors of the fall leaves have been fascinating to her, and watching the big kids run through piles of them have made her eyes grow wide. She loves playing outside, finding everything around her endlessly interesting.

Her complete and utter joy in the world around her never ceases to amaze me.

Chandler pulls out his phone and takes a couple of pictures of Katie, the late afternoon sun glinting off her blue eyes perfectly, making them glow.

"She's the best thing ever," I whisper suddenly, and Chandler tightens his arm around me.

"That she is," he agrees. "She's perfect." He leans forward and nudges a couple of toys at her, seeing if something else will capture her interest. "We don't do this enough."

"What?" I ask, leaning back to stare at him. "Play with her? We do that all the time."

"Not what I meant—calm down. I mean take her outside to play. We have all of Central Park at our disposal and how many times did we bring her here over the summer?"

"A bunch," I answer, settling into his side again. "At least once a week, except for those last couple of weeks in August when it was too hot to even move."

He tugs my hair gently before massaging my scalp with his fingertips. I can tell something is on his mind but I let him be. He'll tell me eventually.

"That apartment isn't going to be enough for her much longer," he says wistfully, watching Katie pull herself to her feet for a few moments before falling back to her butt.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, reaching out to tug her jacket over her sides. "She's barely a year old. She doesn't take up that much space—it's mostly all of her junk that does it. If you're worried about space, we can go through her old toys and stuff and get rid of anything she's outgrown."

"Yeah, that's part of it. I just keep thinking that she needs a backyard, you know? And maybe a swing set and a little playhouse and a paddling pool in the summer. She needs room to grow."

"Oooo-kay," I answer slowly. "Chandler, what are you saying to me? I need you to spit it out because I don't know what you're getting at."

He turns and kisses my temple. "I'm thinking about maybe looking into getting a house. What do you think?"

My heart thumps sadly, preemptively depressed at the thought of him even considering leaving the area. "If it's best for Katie, I guess it's not a bad idea. I didn't know you wanted a house, though."

He shrugs. "Never gave it much thought, really, but it seems silly to have Katie grow up cramped like that. It'd be either a house or a bigger apartment, but a bigger apartment just seems like a waste of money."

"Didn't you just renew your lease in May?"

"Well, it's not like I'm talking about finding a new house tomorrow, but it's never too early to start looking. It's not like we _need_ a house, which would take a lot of the pressure off looking."

"Yeah, I guess," I answer, leaning forward to grab Katie's ball before it rolls too far away.

"What's the matter?" he asks, nudging my hip.

I shrug and look at him over my shoulder, giving him a weak half-smile. "Nothing. I'd just miss you two, that's all."

His forehead knits together in confusion. "What?"

"Well, if you find a house, it's certainly not going to be in Manhattan. It's not like I could guarantee that I'd be able to commute all the time to your new place, either."

He lets out shocked laugh, looking at me incredulously as he grabs Katie and pulls her onto his lap. "Monica…do you _really_ think I would do this without you?"

I pause for a few moments, not entirely sure where he's going with this. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not going _anywhere_ without you."

"You'd want to get a house with me?" I whisper, biting my lower lip to try to hold back my smile.

"The thought had crossed my mind," he answers, still looking a little confused. "Do you really think I'd make a move like that if it wasn't something that was best for all of us?"

"Chandler—"

"Don't give me the spiel," he says, cutting me off. "I know what you're going to say. But right now, we're in this together. That's why it's something I wanted to talk to you about. I guess I didn't make the 'we' part clear earlier, but I didn't mean just me and Katie. I meant the three of us."

I grin at him, leaning forward to capture his lips. I really didn't know that he meant to include me in that whole idea, but the thought of it is honestly thrilling. A house—an actual home with Chandler and Katie? I can't think of anything I'd like more.

I lean back before I can squish Katie, and Chandler grins down at his daughter. "Monica's silly, isn't she? Thinking that we'd go somewhere without her. As if her majesty would even stand for that." He picks her up and turns her around, making eye contact with her. He nods once, pauses, then nods again. "Well, what do you think?" he asks her, his voice quiet but just loud enough for me to hear. "Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Right. No, you're right, of course you're right. Well, that's what I—no, of course it's _your_ idea." He looks at me and rolls his eyes as if the discussion he's having with Katie is simply too exasperating for words. I can't help but laugh and shake my head at the two of them. "Do you want to—no, that's fine. I can do it." He pulls her in and gives her a kiss before settling her on his lap once more.

"What was that about?" I ask. "Did you two just figure out world peace?"

"Not quite, though that _is_ on the agenda." He holds out his hands palms up so Katie can smack against them. "We actually had a question for you. Katie wants me to let you know that it was her idea."

"Sounds intriguing. Do tell."

He looks down at Katie again, who tilts her head back toward her father as she grins. "Katie and I were wondering if maybe you'd like to move in with us. _Officially_."

My heart stops for a few moments before the smile takes over my face. "What?"

"Katie says that she doesn't like the idea of you not being around, and that if she had her choice, she'd pick you over Daddy."

"No, she wouldn't," I answer, smiling down at the baby. "She loves her daddy."

"And she loves her Monica. She wants you to be with us all the time. She wants you to bring over all your winter clothes and your pots and pans and anything else you need and just live with us forever and ever."

"She does, does she?" I ask, feeling a tear leak unashamed out of the corner of my eye.

"She does," he confirms, his expression softening as he reaches out to wipe my cheek. "So do I. I want to live with you, Monica. I want all of our stuff to be together and I want my apartment to be _our_ apartment. I can't stand the idea of you ever going back to your place, and it seems stupid to have two different apartments when we're together all the time anyway. Please?"

I roll my eyes as I lean forward, wrapping my arms around the two of them. "You're such a dope."

"Is that a 'yes'?" he whispers hopefully, tightening his arm around my waist.

I pull my head back just enough to see his face. "Yes."

His face lights up and he lets out a happy laugh. I make a noise so high-pitched that probably only dogs can hear it before I climb onto his lap, holding the both of them close to me. "Yes?" he asks, almost as if he's afraid to believe it.

"Yes! Yes yes yes! Oh, my God, Chandler! Of course I want to live with you!" I feel giddiness coursing through me, joy threatening to overwhelm me. "You're sure?" He lifts his eyebrow at me, giving me a look, and I can't help but laugh. "Right. Of course you're sure." I bend down and kiss Katie, who looks utterly confused by the commotion.

"You were completely right, Katie-did," Chandler says, standing her up on his leg. "She wasn't a hard sell at all."

I laugh and hug the two of them again before sliding off Chandler's lap. "Definitely not." I bounce up and down a few times, unable to contain my excitement. "When?"

"When do I want you to move in? As soon as possible. The sooner the better. That way, you can be all settled in time for the holidays."

My smile grows even wider. The holidays. I haven't even thought about getting to spend Thanksgiving and Christmas and Hanukkah with the two of them. "Okay! The next time you're at work and I have the day off, I'll go over and start packing. I'll have to get a moving van, too, to get some of my furniture over there, and oh! What about my bed? I know we've been using yours and it's wonderful and fantastic, but did you want to check out mine to see if we like it better? Or even just the headboard? I hate to get rid of everything right away. My couch, too, even though we've had a lot of fun on that couch of yours…" My voice trails off as I see his eyes glaze over, and I laugh in apology. "Sorry. I'm excited. I have a million different thoughts at one time."

He leans forward and kisses my cheek. "It's okay. I never think about your stuff because I never see it anymore. We'll take a look at everything we have and go from there. Okay?"

"Yeah, that sounds good. Oh! Wait—what about Joey? Is he going to live with us, too? I mean, you're not just going to kick him out."

"We've been talking about it a little, actually," he answers. "Yeah, I know—I talked to him about you moving in before I talked to you, but I figured it'd be for the best. I didn't want to blindside him. But he said, since he's been working steadily and making okay money, that he was thinking about maybe finding a place. I don't know—maybe he's just saying that because of us and he knew this was inevitable. Certainly, if he needed some time to find somewhere to live, he could stay as long as it takes, right?"

I nod enthusiastically. "Definitely. I know I haven't been there officially, but we've managed to make it work so far with all of us in one place. We could do it for a while longer if need be." An idea springs to mind and I grab his arm. "Hey! What about if he just switches apartments with me? I know this could be way out in left field and he hardly knows Rachel, but it's a good apartment. It has plenty of space and he wouldn't have to worry about trying to find something _or_ a new roommate, if he needs one."

"I guess we'd have to run it by him, honestly, but it's an option for him. A good option, really. We'll talk to him when we go home."

"Home," I repeat, my eyes filling with tears. "Oh, my God, that's _our_ home, isn't it?"

He wraps his arm around me tightly, and Katie squawks indignantly as she gets squished between us. "She'll live," he mumbles. "Thank you."

"For what?" I ask, sniffling a little as I keep my face buried in his neck.

"You've made me so happy. You've made Katie so happy. We love you so much."

"Dada," Katie says, making both of us laugh. I give Chandler a quick kiss before I pull away, dabbing at my face with the back of my sleeve.

"Sorry, sweetie," I tell her, taking her face gently in my hands. "We didn't mean to crush you like that. Everyone's just so happy."

"I can't wait to get home and celebrate with you," Chandler says softly, reaching out to trace a finger down my cheek.

"Celebrate?" I ask, trying to play innocent. "Celebrate how?"

"Horizontally, preferably, though I'd be willing to settle for up against the wall."

A shiver runs through me, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the nip in the air. "I love you."

He grins broadly, pulling out his phone. "Selfie time?"

I can't help but laugh at the enthusiasm, but we've both taken to capturing as many moments as possible. "I'd say a celebratory we're-moving-in-together picture is in order," I agree, pulling Katie up so that her face is near ours. He taps into his phone and holds it out in front of us. He doesn't even bother to say, "Smile!" because I can see our faces reflected in the screen—we're both grinning like lunatics.

He turns his face, kissing my cheek, before I turn and meet his lips. I know he's taking pictures of this, too, but I can't bring myself to care. I hope we nauseate the entire world with our silly, excessive mushiness.

He kisses me again before we settle down side by side, looking at the pictures. Within moments he has updated his Facebook picture, our cheesy, ecstatic grins out there for the world to see. He grabs my phone out of my pocket, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. When I don't object, he taps into my device, too, and updates my picture. We don't often have matching profile pictures, but this feels like a moment worth commemorating.

Katie tilts forward and we let her play on the blanket. She has completely lost interest in what just happened, and her world really won't be any different than it is now. However, my mind is reeling. I'm actually going to live with someone. No matter what everyone has said for the last few months, and even though I haven't spent the night at my apartment since before my parents' anniversary party, we haven't made it official. Fair enough, we have from time to time, referred to it as "our" place or just "home," but it's never been intentional; more of a force of habit. Now, though, I'm going to actually _live_ with Chandler and Katie. It's going to be _our_ home. I know I'm jumping the gun and we're still quite a bit away from it, but it feels like we're just one step closer to…

No—I don't even want to think it. I feel like I'll jinx it if I think it, which is silly. All I want to do right now is focus on this part of the journey because it's going to be amazing. If the rest is going to happen, it'll happen in due time.

I feel Chandler tense beside me as he reaches out to grab Katie, and I look up, startled. "What? What happened?"

"Shit," he hisses. "Shit, shit, shit."

"What's going on?"

"You've _got_ to be kidding me," he mumbles, looking somewhere over my shoulder.

"Chandler, what is it?" I turn my head and try to follow his eyes, but all I see are people everywhere, none of them standing out in anyway.

He lifts Katie and hands her to me without ever looking at either of us. "Go to Mama, honey."

I open my mouth to correct him, but he's already on his feet. His face is set, determined, but by the way his chest is moving rapidly I can tell he's nervous.

Nervous or scared, maybe angry. At any rate, it's not a good thing.

"Chandler, what's happening?" I ask, cradling Katie against my chest.

I see his throat bob as he swallows heavily before looking down at me. "Just stay here. Please."

I grab his pant leg before he can walk away. "Tell me what's going on. You're freaking me out."

He sighs and nods his head toward the edge of the park. "It's Corinne."

My mouth drops open in shock. _Corinne_?

Shit.

* * *

A/N…I've got to confess, my job has been really eating at me lately. Know how I said that last week I'd been on vacation and was pouting about going back? It seems that absence really doesn't make the heart grow fonder. The place made me cry in the bathroom on Wednesday, and I'd only been there for a day. It's frustrating being in a place that doesn't respect the employees (they promised people who were willing to work more than twelve hours in one day an extra $100, then didn't give them anything when they left for the day, and that's not even the worst of it), a place that changes its hours at the last minute and expects—no, _demands_ —people work those hours or suffer the consequences. It's frustrating seeing people dick around day after day, doing nothing and getting paid for it, advancing their positions, while others bust their asses, do everything that's asked of them, and go nowhere. Guess which category I'm in. I'm told I'm nothing, that I don't matter, that I'm at the bottom of the barrel, but in the same breath they won't let me use my vacation time the same time as someone else because they don't think they'll be able to function otherwise. I got called into my boss's office a few weeks ago and felt it necessary to talk down to me because I had three weeks of vacation left for the year. Because apparently having a dedicated employee who shows up day in and day out is a bad thing. Obviously. Never mind that I'm not exactly paid enough to go on a vacation, and the vacation time is only given to us to fill in the down time we usually have, but I'm never even given those opportunities to leave early or not come in on some days. But she felt it necessary to treat me poorly for doing my job. That's the kind of shit I can't handle, and it's the stuff that's crushing my soul and breaking my heart.

So, you can imagine that I, like so many others, come to this place as a refuge. We come here to relax and unwind and enjoy ourselves, because so many of us, unfortunately, have horrible jobs or situations and this an escape. In that respect, it can be awesome. But when I start coming across the same sort of double standards here, it gets frustrating. I mean, if I (and probably others, I can't speak for them, though) decide to speak our minds and tell you guys that something is getting to us, we're given a wide berth, with people passing notes behind our backs or treating us poorly, but we're not supposed to defend ourselves or even mention someone treating us badly. Can you see the frustration? I know I'm tough to take—I think I've said that for some time, though I really do try to work on it—but it's not exactly fair to think that, as a reviewer, you can say anything you want without consequence, and then to get upset if anyone who is affected by this happens to not want to just accept it.

Another A/N pointed it out pretty perfectly—it doesn't have to be something overtly rude to really get under someone's skin. It really can be the nitpicky things that hurt. It's hard to describe those things, but unfortunately, this seems to be a rampant event. I hate that. I really hate that others are feeling this. If it was just me, I could definitely write it off as me being too sensitive. Not that case, sadly. All I want out of people—in this community, the world around me, whatever—is to just be kind to each other. It's not easy; it takes work. I try to leave positive reviews for others, mostly because I know what negative ones feel like (fortunately, not truly from this fandom, but from previous experiences), and I know what it takes to put this work out there for others to read. I just want to encourage that. I want to encourage all the good things in the world. There's too much chaos in my country alone at the moment (I hope those of you overseas have never heard of a dude named Donald Trump, but he's terrifying, and that's not getting into the mass shootings that happen monthly), and we need good things. I'm sorry if asking people to not be dicks to each other is too demanding. I guess I'm an asshole like that.

Regardless, I'll just shut up from now on. Apparently, I'm just supposed to be okay with abuse in whatever format someone wants to dish it out to me, whether it's here or in my real life. Please know that I'm truly grateful for your kind words and support. I really, really am. I know this doesn't sound like it, but I honestly am. I appreciate all of you reading this story and indulging me. Thank you for all of the support you've given me, and the support I'm hoping you'll continue to give me. I hope you'll keep supporting the others who are working so hard at keeping this fandom alive. It's a labor of love, and you know that all the writers here really must love what they're doing to continue despite their misgivings.


	32. Chapter 32

_I know that the whole point—the only point—is to find the things that matter, and to hold on to them, and fight for them, and refuse to let them go._

* * *

Corinne is here? Of all places and all days, she's _here_ right _now_? My thoughts go racing in a million different directions, and not one of them makes sense. All I keep thinking is that she's here for Katie. I know it's illogical because she would have had no idea of how to find Chandler, at least not out in the open like this. In all likelihood, it's just a coincidence.

That doesn't mean my heart isn't thundering in my ears.

"Mama," Katie squeaks, her little fingers gripping at my sweater. Her voice is distressed and her face is crinkled with worry.

Though maybe I'm projecting just a little.

"It's okay, honey. Monica has you." I rub her back gently, trying like hell to get my heart to stop racing. She's probably picking up on that more than anything else. I turn myself around so that I can see what Chandler's doing, but also shielding Katie from view. It's probably not my place, but I don't want this person to see the child she gave away.

I watch a woman walking toward Chandler, and I can't help but feel a little surprised. I don't know what I was expecting her to look like, nor did I ever anticipate seeing her in person, but in my head, I always pictured her as either devastatingly beautiful or something like the Wicked Witch of the West.

Naturally, she's neither, and I feel a little twinge of disappointment. This woman is extraordinary only in her ordinariness. She's shorter than I am, has chin-length brown hair with narrow, almost squinty eyes, and while I wouldn't call her fat, I would say she's just sort of…dumpy.

I know it's horrible to judge her by her appearance, but since I've already judged her by her behavior, there's probably not much harm in it.

She looks very plain and boring and it seems odd to be disappointed by it, but after hearing about what she did to Chandler and Katie, I was almost expecting her to be larger than life. For it to be someone so run-of-the-mill, for her to look like someone I could have passed a million times on the street, feels like a letdown.

"What do you want?" Chandler asks, his voice hard and cold.

"Nothing," she answers. "I didn't know I was going to see you here."

Nothing is said for a while—Chandler stands in front of her, looking impossibly tall and foreboding with his arms crossed in front of his chest, while Corinne shuffles her feet uncomfortably.

"So, how are you?" she finally asks, glancing at me over his shoulder.

"Fine."

"And, ah…the baby?"

"The baby," he repeats mirthlessly, shaking his head. " _The baby_ is fine."

"Look," she sighs, "I'm not here to cause any trouble—"

"If that were true, you would have left as soon as you realized that I was here instead of standing there gaping."

"It's a free park," she answers defensively. "I can stand anywhere I want."

He makes an exasperated noise but says nothing. I hug Katie against my chest; fortunately, she seems to have relaxed a bit and is now reaching for the diaper bag. I grab out a container of her snacks and try to focus on feeding her instead of the conversation that I'm not technically a part of.

"I don't think so," Chandler says, and I look up to see Corinne shifting a bit to the side, trying to get a look at me and Katie.

"What? I'm not _allowed_ to see...the baby?"

"Not even a little bit."

"It's a free country—"

"But it's _my_ child," he counters, and she makes an unhappy face at him.

"It's my kid, too."

He barks out a mirthless laugh. "Oh, really? _Your_ kid? You don't even know if it's a boy or a girl. You gave up those rights, Corinne. You had your chance and you passed. She's not yours. She's never been yours."

"It's a girl?" Corinne asks, completely ignoring Chandler.

He sighs, frustrated. "Yes; she's a girl. Why does it matter?"

"I'm just curious. You can't blame me for wondering."

"Well, it's not your business." He points back at us and my eyes grow wide. I pull Katie closer. "That's _my_ kid, Corinne. She is of no concern to you."

"Look—I'm not trying to make it my business, all right? I'm here by accident. I just wanted to say hi. That's all. Is that a crime?" She's manipulative—not that I needed to meet her to know that, but there's something about everything she says that feels as if it's carefully planned, as if she has an excuse for every eventuality. She doesn't sit right with me, but that's probably mostly because of the little girl I'm holding onto for dear life. "It won't be the end of the world if I meet her, you know. You don't _have_ to keep her from me."

He opens his mouth to respond, but clamps it shut a moment later. I can almost hear him counting to ten in his head. " _You_ were going to take her from me, without ever asking if I wanted to give her up. Do you remember that, or has that bit of information managed to escape your recollection? Are you rewriting history now?"

Katie makes a few whiny noises, not at all happy to hear her daddy getting so upset. Chandler takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

"God, Chandler," Corinne says, looking offended. "Bitter much? Maybe you should try letting it go."

"You're damn right I'm bitter," he answers. He looks over his shoulder at me, his face softening a little. "But it worked out for the best."

I can actually see her roll her eyes, and my hackles inexplicably go up. I press my lips to Katie's forehead and take a deep breath of her smell to calm myself. "What? You have a happy little family now?"

"That's not your business, either, is it?"

"You don't have to be so nasty," she says, sounding wounded. Her face falls and she actually pouts a little, making me cringe. The face that Katie makes when she's sulking that's so cute is the same face her mother—no, _not_ her mother. Corinne. Just Corinne—is making right now. I shudder and focus on Katie again. I don't want to imagine Corinne every time I look at Katie.

Chandler sighs deeply. "Look…whatever. I'm not doing this with you."

"Doing _what_ with me?"

"Whatever it is you're trying to get from me…I'm not interested. I don't want to get tangled up in your problems, I don't want my daughter exposed to you, I don't want any of it. I just want you to leave me alone. That's it—nothing else. That was part of our agreement, if you recall. Once you gave up your parental rights, you were supposed to just stay away. Let's keep it like that, shall we?"

I glance up and see that she has her arms crossed sullenly across her chest. "I'm surprised you didn't take out a restraining order."

"If I had done that, I would have had to tell you where I live, and that would sort of defeat the purpose."

I feel her eyes on me and I look up at her for just a moment before turning away again. There isn't a lot friendly in that gaze—honestly, there isn't a lot of anything there. Either she has a great poker face, or she's just that empty.

I try not to form my opinion of that too quickly.

"What if I wanted to maybe—"

"No," he answers immediately. "Not even. You don't want anything to do with her; you'd only be doing it to hurt me. You have no interest in a child and you know it."

She shrugs carelessly. "I could take you back to court, you know. Biologically, I _am_ her mother and I have rights."

His head falls back and he lets out an exasperated noise. " _No you don't_. What aren't you getting? You gave it all up, remember? You gave _her_ up with the understanding that you're out of our lives forever. I gave you a million chances to change your mind and you still wanted nothing to do with her. You want to take me to court now? For what? To hurt me? Who do you think will represent you at this point? And what judge do you think would actually entertain anything you have to say? You sort of burned a lot of bridges last time, and considering your history with this whole situation, you don't have much of a leg to stand on. Would you like me to go into just how unstable you came across the last time we were in court, or do you remember all that?"

She grits her teeth, putting her hands on her hips. "There's no need—"

"Nope. Not happening. If you feel some sort of need to try all that again, I can't stop you, but there's no way in _hell_ that I'm letting you any closer to her than you are right now." He glances over his shoulder at me, and with one hand holding Katie close, I start gathering up our stuff, folding up the blanket we've been lounging on as much as possible before shoving it into the diaper bag. I gather up Katie's toys as quickly as I can, putting them anywhere I can find room before I stand, taking a couple of steps back from the two of them.

"Mama," Katie whimpers, grabbing tightly at my hair as she tries to burrow into me. If looks could kill, the one Corinne gives me when she hears Katie would do it.

"Think about this before you do anything stupid, all right? I don't want to go through all of this with you again, but I will if I have to. You're not getting access to her, you're not taking her from me, and you're not going to be part of her life." He doesn't let her say anything else before he turns around and moves toward me. I turn as he reaches my side and fall into step next to him, rubbing Katie's back as she starts to cry.

"It's okay, honey. It's okay. We're going home now," I whisper to her. "Monica's got you. I won't let anything happen to you." I kiss her forehead, closing my eyes for just a moment. I feel Chandler's hand on my hip, his fingers digging into me. His arm feels incredibly tense behind my back.

We walk in complete silence for a few minutes, with only Katie snuffling and whining as I try to get her to relax. Finally, Chandler stops and looks over his shoulder, his entire body sagging with relief when he doesn't see anyone following us. "Let me see Katie," he says, holding out his hands, and I carefully transfer her to her father. He pulls her tight against his chest and before I can go far, he wraps his free arm around me. His entire body trembles as we hold each other.

"I'm sorry," he finally whispers. "I'm so sorry." I'm not sure if he's talking to me or to Katie. Maybe both of us.

"Are you okay?" I ask, giving him a squeeze, but he just shrugs.

"I don't know. I wasn't expecting this today." I feel him kiss the top of my head. "Jesus, today. This had to happen _today_ of all days. For weeks, I've been trying to figure out when to ask you to move in with us and even though I wasn't planning on it today it just seemed like the perfect moment, you know? Then _she_ had to show up. I swear the universe has it out for me. This should be a happy day."

I nod a little in understanding. "Chandler…I think you need to tell me everything."

He pulls back in confusion. "Everything about what?"

"Everything about Corinne. I haven't pressed for details mostly because I don't really want to know about her, and after you told me about what happened between the two of you, I never considered that there was more to the story, but there has to be."

"She's crazy, Mon, I don't know what else to tell you."

I untangle myself from him and grab his arm, forcing him to walk. "It's not that I think you're hiding anything from me, but I've talked to a few people." I feel him start, so I rush to reassure him. "Not like that. I haven't gone poking around, but going by the things that have been said, like Phoebe saying she was there through the whole terrible ordeal, or your mother's visceral reaction when she first met me and how she said just how awful and horrible it was and…I know there has to be more to it. I think I need to know."

He sighs, nodding a little. "I know I left some stuff out back when we first talked about it, but we hadn't known each other that long. I didn't want to completely scare you away and honestly, I was more concerned with how you'd feel about Katie than anything else. Since then…it hasn't felt necessary to talk about it. It's in the past, it's over. We're together and life is good."

"Life _is_ good," I confirm. "But ghosts will haunt a good life, too. Shouldn't I but fully prepared in case of another…event?"

"When we get home?" he asks, and I nod.

* * *

*A/N…Hey, Baba—remember how I said I described that person we talked about? I'm sure you caught it, but this was definitely her.


	33. Chapter 33

_My heart only ever had one thought, one want. One need. Despite all, in spite of all…All my heart has ever wanted is you._

* * *

We walk the rest of the way in silence, mostly trying to make sure that Katie is all right. As we finally get into the apartment, we go through her naptime ritual and even though she fights us on it for a little while, it doesn't take much to get her to curl up in her crib, pacifier firmly in place. Chandler lingers over her for a few minutes so I give him some space. I gather several bottles of water and a box of tissues, putting everything on the coffee table—I don't know if this will be a long, emotional conversation, but I want to be prepared just in case.

Finally, he comes out to the living room and flops down on the couch next to me, reaching out to put a hand on my knee. "Honestly, I've tried to forget about a lot of it," he says, picking up almost in the middle of the conversation. "After Katie was born, there wasn't a lot of time to even think about everything that happened, and I'm okay with that. Then I met you and bringing up the past hasn't felt necessary."

I reach out and stroke the hair at the base of his neck. "It's okay," I tell him softly.

He shrugs, sighing. "It was bad. I know I've said that before, but…it was bad. She already had preliminary adoption paperwork drawn up for that couple I told you about by the time I found out what she had in mind." My mouth drops open and he nods. "I know. She'd lied through her teeth to the lawyer she'd found who, fortunately, promptly dropped her when he found out about my existence. And I never told you that _she_ was trying to help that couple get custody even as I was fighting for Katie. It felt personal, Monica, like I did something that she found offensive and, instead of ever mentioning it to me, she decided that I shouldn't get to be the baby's father. I honestly don't know if she thought she'd ever get away with it. At that point, she seemed delusional enough to buy her own story."

"Did you ever find out...I mean, do you know there's something wrong with her? Has she ever been diagnosed with anything? Bipolar, split personalities, something?"

"Not that I was ever made aware of. I never saw her take any medications, though. She has issues—serious issues, stuff I didn't really recognize until halfway through the pregnancy. Some of the stuff I found out when we were together and it probably should have set off warning bells but I brushed it off at the time. I mean, we weren't serious, so I didn't think too much about it."

"Like what?"

He makes a disgusted noise and grips my knee a little tighter. "Just stupid things. She was a perpetual victim, very 'woe to me, the world is out to get me' over even the little things. I mean, if someone cut her in line at the store, it was a national tragedy. She was the helpless pawn in the system's inscrutable chess game. From what it sounded like, she was very good at isolating people." He pauses, chuckling mirthlessly. "I guess that part is fairly obvious, though."

I shift a little closer to him, sliding my arm around his shoulders, and wait.

"She didn't hesitate to cut people out of her life, even the ones she claimed to be good friends of hers. The tiniest slight, real or perceived, and they were out. Like, she had this friend—and some of this happened while we were going out and it was really damn bizarre. I guess that's how I knew we really wouldn't work. Anyway, I don't know much about the real story, only what Corinne told me, but she and this friend did something with some online magazine. I think they both wrote about the same topic or something, but it was some sort of niche interest. That's how they became friends initially—they met through whatever it was they had in common. I don't know what it was because she never offered that information. Neither of them made a living at it any rate, but they were both big fans of this one particular…whatever. Honestly, I'm not really sure. I tried to look it up but I guess she wrote under a pen name. My lawyer never found that she'd done anything illegal, so whatever it was didn't seem to interfere with her real life.

"Anyhow, like I said, whatever it was she was interested in, her friend was also into. They wound up essentially competing for an audience at times, which sounds all right to me but I guess was unacceptable to Corinne. Before we ever met, Corinne stopped publishing or posting or whatever you call it because her friend was able to publish every day and I guess was too much competition or something; meanwhile, Corinne didn't have that option or drive to do it daily. So, it was her friend's fault for being 'better' at writing articles or whatever, and she, from what it sounds like, pouted and licked her wounds for a while. I guess Corinne started writing for this topic first and was considered the best until this friend of hers came along and was better. Again, somehow the friend's fault." He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, leaning forward to take a few large gulps of water. "Any of this making sense?"

"Not really, but that's more because of her behavior than anything else. I'm following you, though, I promise."

"So, they came to some sort of agreement—I don't know who instigated it, but they both decided they would alternate days, or check with each other first before posting…publishing…whatever. I guess that way they'd each have a fairly even shot at reaching an audience and neither one of them would be able to corner the market. Fair, but probably unnecessary. It seemed to work for them, though. She told me at one point—again, before I knew her—that her friend was in the middle of some big, extensive article that was taking her a while to write—a couple of months maybe?—but that this friend of hers had let Corinne post a smaller series of her own in the middle of all that. Nice, right?" I nod in agreement, wondering where he could be going with this. "Well, just before we found out she was pregnant, Corinne was all kinds of riled up and pissed off because she was suddenly in the middle of something big of her own, but hers was going to take something like five or six months. I can't even imagine what she was writing about that would take that long, nor do I want to. I know her friend would check in with her before posting shorter pieces during that time and I guess Corinne was fine with it until her friend wanted to do something that was going to take a week or so. Corinne went apeshit."

"Really?" I ask, grabbing my own bottle of water. "She wasn't—"

"Oh, no. She was _pissed_. She started going on about how this person wasn't supporting her and didn't have her back and how _dare_ she try to steal her thunder? It didn't occur to me until a long while after that she'd done the exact same thing, but I guess that never crossed her mind, either. All she could do was go on and on about how this person had betrayed her and that it was over. At one point, I asked if her friend had started submitting the piece and Corinne wouldn't answer, so I guess that was a 'no.' She only made a couple of references to it during all the fights over Katie, just to the effect that this person—no longer her 'friend', by the way, but 'that woman,' usually—had finally started with her project after Corinne's had finished and that people were already all over it. But she cut her out of her life after that. The friend dared to mention that she wanted to do something of her own while Corinne had a little down time on her own project—which Corinne hadn't done anything with for weeks—but the very day her friend said she was going to start her project, Corinne jumped in with that _she_ was about to add a new piece to hers, then got pissed off because her friend was irritated with her. I mean, I know I can't give you a clear picture of what was going on, but that sounds a little crazy to you, right?"

"Yeah, kind of," I agree. "I mean, I wish I knew what it was they were writing about that had them so competitive, but it still seems like Corinne couldn't handle it. I mean, I'm sure there's more to it—even if Corinne is crazy, her friend may not have been completely innocent."

"Oh, no, I agree with that. I'm sure she had issues of her own, too, but probably not to the extent that she needed to be unceremoniously kicked to the curb. So, I guess after that happened is when the friend came forward and said that she was irritated by Corinne's behavior, and Corinne told me herself, because she hadn't heard from the friend in a while, that she figured she was irritated because of that maneuver. Well, she was, but Corinne sure as hell didn't like being called on it. I guess her friend said Corinne must have known she'd done something shady if she knew that it was causing irritation, but Corinne told her that she didn't think she'd done anything wrong." I feel my head tilt in confusion and he holds up his hands. "I know. Even I was confused by that one. I mean, if you think the reason you haven't heard from someone turns out to be the reason you haven't heard from someone, then you get mad because they're calling you on it? Yeah, there are some other issues at play there. It seemed like an excessive response, honestly, especially when someone was attempting to be straight with her. Turns out, Corinne isn't a big fan of honesty. Shocking, right? She can also dish it out, but she can't take it in, which I think is how I eventually won my case."

He takes a deep breath and smiles at me a little. "I know—you're wondering why I've told you all this. I'm kind of wondering about it, too, except it feels nice to actually tell someone about it. Plus, I want to know that I'm not completely misreading something. Is there some sort of girl code in all that that I'm missing?"

"None that I can see. As far as I can tell from what you've told me, that wasn't at all a proportional response. Honestly, it sounds like the response of someone who knows she's done something wrong and wasn't expecting to get called on it. She sounds like she's used to getting her way and kind of like a bully, honestly, like she only wants to keep around the people that she can get something from or that make her feel better about herself because they're 'beneath' her." I pause, forcing myself to take deep breaths in. "Of course, I'm biased because I really don't like her already. My opinions of her are definitely skewed."

"I don't think you're completely wrong about her. She doesn't have much in the way of self-esteem, it turns out, which worked at the time because I didn't, either. I figured it was a good match. But I think she tried to bring others down to her level and make them feel bad about themselves. When it didn't work, it made her mad."

"Honey," I say, and he looks up at me earnestly. "How on earth did you get involved with someone like this? I mean, I don't want to judge you, but what were you thinking?"

"She seemed pretty normal when we first met, and we had enough in common that we decided to go out. As you know, we did that for a few months and it was never serious on either end. Like I said, hindsight is twenty-twenty, but when you're involved with someone, you're not always capable of putting all the pieces together. After she told me she was pregnant, well, I chalked a lot of the weird stuff up to her hormones. I didn't know much about pregnant women, but I knew enough to know that hormones can really screw with their heads. Besides, I was too excited about being a daddy to worry too much about it. Everything was sunshine and roses and lollipops and I honestly thought we'd managed to figure everything out." He takes a few more sips out of his bottle. "I'm a chump."

"No, Chandler, you're not."

"Well, I certainly felt like it after I found out about the adoption thing. I was lucky, though, and I had both of my parents' support through the whole thing. I had a really good lawyer who, while expensive, was a barracuda and knew how to counter everything she threw at us. But Corinne…she made a mess out of my life for a while. She had people following me, trying to prove that I'd been cheating on her, digging into my past to find something to show that I couldn't be a father. She'd show up at my apartment and harass me, which is really why I have _this_ place. I didn't want to live like that, you know? But she had a good lawyer, too, who did his damndest to get what she wanted. Honestly, I'm not sure what she was telling him, though I'd be willing to bet that it wasn't the truth. He came at me over and over and over, attacking me and my character and my family and friends…it was hell. It was honestly living hell and the thought of going through all that again scares the shit out of me."

I reach over and grab his hand, giving it a squeeze. "Do you really think she would?"

"Truthfully, I don't know. I wouldn't put it past her, but she would have a hell of a time finding representation. She might have gotten by with a lot of stuff the first time, but I don't think she'd be able to a second time. The only reason she finally stopped was that the judge told her that there was no way she was going to win it and laid it out for her point by point. Her lawyer then told her that she was never going to win—she was never going to convince anyone that I was an unfit parent with the information that she had and, since he'd finally heard about everything she'd done to _me_ since the beginning of the pregnancy, he told her that no longer wanted to represent her. After that, she could only find a court-appointed attorney who couldn't get anything better for her, and it was definitively decided that, should she change her mind and suddenly want to be a mother, I would fight her tooth and nail and probably win without much contest.

"Like I said, though, the fight went out of her. After months of court battles she lost steam. I guess after people stopped seeing her as the victim there wasn't much point. The stipulation we put in the agreement about her changing her mind up to a few weeks after Katie was born wasn't ever going to grant her parental rights; it just meant that we would revisit the topic and see if we could reach an arrangement. But she signed it all away. She went to her last few doctor's appointments and I got a call from the hospital when she went into labor and I got to see Katie come into the world. Corinne refused to look at her and wanted absolutely no contact. I honestly believe that today was an accident, though there's no doubt that she took it as an opportunity to try to hurt me. Maybe she's always hoping she'll win or be able to bend someone to her will. I don't know. I just don't know if I'm honestly strong enough to go through it all again." His face crumples a little and I pull him into my arms, stroking his hair as he takes deep breaths to compose himself.

"I'll be strong for both of us," I whisper. "I'm not going to let anything happen to the two of you. You're the love of my life, Chandler. You and Katie—you're everything to me. I'm not going to lose either of you and I'll be _damned_ if I let someone hurt you. If she really wants to do this again, she's going to have to go through me first."

"I love you," he mumbles against my collarbone. "All that stuff with Corinne, that's why it took me so long to tell you about—"

"You don't have to explain that to me, Chandler. I don't blame you for being cautious. The fact that you could trust anyone after that is astonishing, and I promise I will never do anything to make you question me."

He nods and tightens his arms around my waist. My head is reeling from all the information he just gave me; if there's more to the story, I don't want to make him relive it.

All I want to do is hold him and Katie close and keep them safe forever.

* * *

*A/N…just real quick. Sorry this is so jumbled and hard to follow, but it was cathartic to write. I've been debating with adjusting it to something that makes more sense, but it is what it is.

Updated-this is still jumbled and hard to follow, and I apologize for that, but this is a very thinly veiled summary of what happened with me and the bully I mentioned a while back. I wanted to, hopefully, clear it up a little. Maybe I'll be able to clear it up and make it more cohesive as I think about it more.


	34. Chapter 34

_I've fallen in love. I'm an ordinary woman. I didn't think such violent things could happen to ordinary people._

* * *

I lie on my side, smiling up at Chandler as I stroke his shin gently. My entire body is sore and tired, but I'm completely ecstatic. I've officially moved in with Chandler. We live together now. Granted, Joey is still going to be with us for a few weeks, but it doesn't matter. I live here now.

Once we started talking about it, it didn't take us long to really get the ball rolling. We started making trips to my apartment to go through my stuff to see what we wanted to keep. We wound up leaving my couch and coffee table there, mostly because Chandler already had those things and so Rachel wouldn't then have to buy new furniture. Chandler's stuff is already baby-proofed, anyway.

We took a few spins on my old bed, something we'd never actually done before, to see which one we prefer, and we decided to keep my headboard and footboard, but leave the mattress. That works for Joey, who can get rid of the old one he's been using _and_ so he doesn't have to bother with actually moving a mattress just a few blocks.

Mostly, though, it was a matter of going through all of the small stuff—lamps, paintings, things like that—that took the most time, but even then, we wound up keeping a lot of the stuff I've collected over the years and getting rid of the things Chandler bought in a hurry out of necessity instead of longevity or décor.

Already, it looks like _our_ place. Everything is unpacked and put away, all of the stuff we're getting rid of has been either put into the trash shoot or has been scheduled for pick up by a couple of thrift stores, and I feel so completely blissfully happy that I can't stand myself.

Katie was considerably less than interested in the whole process, and only got irritated when there was an excessive amount of activity going on around her that she couldn't be part of. She was ready for bed earlier than normal, mostly missing her nap in favor of being nosy, and went down for the night without much resistance.

Life is good.

Chandler shifts a little to wrap his arms around my legs, kissing the ball of my recently-showered foot. I don't know why we're laying head to toe right now—I just know that it works for us.

"I love you," he says softly, his fingers trailing down my calf.

"I love you," I answer, smiling.

"Thank you for moving in with me."

My grin grows even wider. "Thank you for asking."

He shifts again, sighing contentedly. "I can already tell that you're going to be the best roommate _ever_."

"Is that because I do your laundry for you?" I tease, nestling my head against his ankles. "Or because I cook you dinner? Maybe it's because I clean up after you—"

"Nah, none of that," he answers, smiling at me.

"Then what is it?"

"Co-ed showers."

I burst out laughing, running a hand up and down his legs. "Oh, yeah. Those showers _are_ something special. I mean, Rachel and I would take showers together all the time, but it wasn't anything like _ours_."

And just like that—just like I knew it would happen—I see the front of Chandler's boxer briefs lift slightly. I knew that simple thought would turn him on.

"You're screwing with me," he says, though I can hear the slight strain in his voice.

"Maybe I am," I whisper. "But maybe I'm not. Maybe, after a couple of glasses of wine, when we were feeling a little lonely, we'd slip in there together."

"No, you didn't." I can see his throat bob as he swallows. The front of his shorts grows tighter and I can't help but lick my lips.

"Maybe we'd turn the temperature up just a little too high, and maybe we'd soap each other up." I slide my hand up to his hip, dipping my fingers below the waistband of his shorts. "Maybe she'd rub the tension out of my back." I give the shorts a little tug, biting my lip as I watch him spring free. It really doesn't take much to get him turned on. I should probably be offended that the thought of me having sex with Rachel does it for him, but as long as he never asks to see it happen, I think we're good. I trace my fingers delicately over his length, but he shudders anyway. "Maybe I'd rub the tension out of her back, too."

"Maybe," he whispers, his eyes wide. His fingers clutch at the sheet beneath us, his chest moves a bit more rapidly as he starts to breathe heavier, but he doesn't make any other move.

I wrap my fingers around him, squeezing gently before I start to move my hand slowly up and down his erection. "And maybe, sometimes, she'd drop down to her knees in front of me, and then she'd—" I stop when I see his lips curl, sneering just a bit. "What?"

"Maybe I don't like the thought of anyone but me touching you like that," he answers, though he still makes no move to touch me.

"Good," I answer, dragging myself to my knees. I pause, tugging at his underwear a few times before I manage to yank it off over his feet. "I don't plan to let anyone but you touch me ever again." I run my fingers over him carefully, not even a little alarmed to realize that it's true. I don't think there could ever be another man to hold a candle to what Chandler does to me, and though I can't speak from experience, I don't think there's a woman who could do it, either.

"Whatcha doin' down there, Mon?" he asks, one arm under his head, the other stretched out toward my leg. Despite his aroused state, he looks peaceful, lethargic, and it's perfect. If he's just a little tired, he'll be really into a blow job right now. It always takes him a little longer to get to the point of no return when he's relaxed like this.

I lean forward and tilt my head, slowly dragging my lips up his shaft before I flick my tongue over the tip. "Use your imagination," I breathe, keeping my mouth close to him. He shudders as my breath hits him.

"My imagination is fully engaged," he promises. I feel his fingertips graze my knee and I shiver.

I hold him in my hand, his flesh warm and firm beneath my touch, and I slowly run my tongue up him. I hear him hiss and I look up. His breath catches in his throat as our eyes meet and I grin. I'm sure it comes across very predatory, but that's precisely how I feel right now.

I toss my hair over my shoulder and lean over him, slowly, inch by inch, taking him into my mouth. I struggle to keep my eyes open, watching his reaction.

He doesn't disappoint.

I can see the muscles in his stomach tense. His jaw clenches. His pupils dilate, making his eyes look dark and mysterious. I feel a familiar rush through my body, the intense desire I have for him that I only barely manage to keep in check most of the time surging forth with a vengeance.

I lift my head, scraping my teeth very carefully as I go, just enough to make him shudder from head to toe. I keep just the tip of him in my mouth, unable to help myself from moaning as I swirl my tongue over him.

I watch him as I go back down, and this time his eyes flutter shut. He breathes out heavily through his nose. I can feel him shaking just a little beneath me. I grab onto his hip, digging my fingers into him as I take him as far as I can.

I really do love this part.

I move my head up and down steadily, watching his face for his reactions. I ease off a little when I see his face start to tense up right before I bob my head wildly for a few seconds. His hips buck a little, but he tries to keep himself in check. He's always very mindful of that aspect, which makes me want him even more.

"God, Monica," he groans, gasping a few times as I hum at the back of my throat. "You're so much better than any fantasy I've ever had. Nothing in this world could ever compare to you." I smile around him, moving slowly for now, dragging out the torture. "You're so unbelievably sexy, and you're so gorgeous, and I'm the luckiest bastard to ever walk the planet."

I pull off him slowly, breathing heavily, though I keep a hand on him, my fingers grasping him carefully. "I don't know how you're able to talk right now."

He chuckles a little, groaning softly. "Have to. It's the only way I can keep myself distracted."

"Hmm," I answer noncommittally before I lean forward, running my tongue up the ridge on the back of his erection. His entire body jerks violently for a few moments, gasps escaping his lips before he gets himself back under control.

" _Definitely_ have to distract myself," he says in a strangled voice.

I run my tongue over him a few before times before I sit up. He looks a little disappointed for just a moment before I cross my arms over my stomach, yanking off my tank top in one quick motion. If possible, his eyes grow darker. I grin again and lean over him once more, not hesitating before I take him in my mouth.

" _Jesus Christ_ ," he yells, his entire body tensing again. His fingertips slide under the edge of my panties, wasting no time before finding me, stroking over me lightly.

I gasp, releasing him. "I want this to be about you."

"I want this to be about _us_ ," he counters, managing to slide a finger in me even from that angle. My muscles clench around him as my eyes slam shut. There's absolutely no disguising how much I want him right now. I take him in my mouth once more, trying to focus on what I'm doing to him instead of what he's doing to me.

His fingers disappear a few moments later, leaving me feel incredibly bereft. I feel him tugging at my panties, shoving them down my thighs. They get caught up at my knees and I refuse to stop my ministrations to help him. He lets out a frustrated noise and grabs my legs, dragging me over to him. I feel his fingers gently probing me again, sending shivers up and down my spine, before he thrusts them into me. I gasp around him, shoving my hips back against his hand.

I wrap a hand around him, covering more area that way. I can feel him growing harder and harder, to the point where it has to be painful. I try to ignore what he's doing, moving my mouth and hands frantically, my entire body thrusting, his body jerking and vibrating in response, before I let him slide out of my mouth. I breathe heavily for a few moments, letting my hands do the work.

"Shit, you're killing me," he gasps. I look at him over my shoulder and grin. He whimpers, his eyes slamming shut, and I can only imagine just how lascivious I look right now. Good. I want him so turned on that he can't see straight. I lean forward again, wrapping my lips around just the top of him, sucking gently. "Ohhhhhh, Monica." I move my tongue over him and his hips thrust, eager for more.

His fingers leave me again, and I try to ignore the sense of loss. He yanks at my panties, finally working them over my knees before they disappear completely. He grabs my hips and tugs a few times before I finally catch on, sliding across his chest. I feel a shiver of anticipation run through me. Honestly, I've never done the whole "sixty-nine" thing. It's never been something I could really get into, and usually, if I'm going down on someone, I'd rather that part be the focus so that I can kind of control the situation. But right now, mutual gratification seems perfect.

His mouth makes contact with me and I release him for a few moments, letting out a moan. My hips thrust back against his face as his arms wrap around me. He doesn't hold back, his tongue flicking against me urgently.

I brace my hands on his hips as I throw my head back, undulating out of control against his mouth. "Oh, God, you asshole," I manage to gasp, looking at him over my shoulder.

His eyes flick open, somehow knowing that I'm looking at him, and I see them crinkle up at the corners. He sucks at me and I nearly explode right then and there. His grip tightens, his eyes never leaving mine, and I feel the pit of my stomach quiver.

I force myself to turn away from him, leaning forward to grab his shaft with both hands. He loses his rhythm for a split second, but it's all I need to regain some semblance of control. I lean over and capture him between my lips once more, sighing and moaning simultaneously. He gasps, his hips jerking, and I feel like we're on even footing once more.

I don't hold back, either, sucking at him as hard as I can, taking deep breaths through my nose so that I don't have to release him, using my hands when my lips can't reach. He grows impossibly harder in my mouth, and I feel a heady rush of satisfaction go through me. I may not completely have the upper hand right now, but I _do_ know that I have an awful lot of power over him at the moment.

I feel one of his fingers push into me again and I shudder—if only he didn't have the same amount of power over me. The only upside is that I know he won't be able to maintain this angle for very long. It has to be awkward.

Of course, if he knows that it's a phenomenal torture for me, he'll do it all night.

God, I love this man.

I let him slide slowly out of my mouth, breathing heavily. I push myself up just a little, bracing my knees on the bed to hold myself up. I trap his erection between my breasts and tug gently. My eyes roll back in my head—this shouldn't feel so amazing.

His mouth disappears and I hear him yell out, gasping for air. "Fuck! Oh, my God, _yes_."

I smile to myself, pushing against him harder, making sure he's firmly trapped. The sheen of sweat that's coating my body helps to keep him moving between my breasts. I slide all the way down him, taking him in my mouth again for just a few moments before I push back up, capturing him again. "That good, baby?" I ask, my voice low and breathy. He only whimpers, so I do it a few more times before I leave him between my breasts, pumping up and down.

He actually growls before tightening his hold on my legs, pulling me back to him. His mouth latches onto me and I almost lose my grip on him. I feel his teeth scrape against me, carefully but insistently. His tongue moves frantically, so I match his pace, thrusting him between my breasts until I can't hold myself up anymore. I take him back into my mouth, moving up and down as quickly as I can. I have no idea how he's managed to hold out this long. I don't know if I care, actually. The way I feel right now, I would gladly do this all night.

I would go insane, but I would do it anyway.

His hips start gyrating, moving in tiny, powerful waves. I grip the base of him firmly and he yells out, gasping a few times as he seems to relax just a fraction. I wait a few moments before letting my grasp grow slack, moaning loudly as I take him back in my mouth as far as he can go. His mouth moves against me faster and faster, my thighs quivering so badly that I feel like I'm going to collapse at any moment.

Suddenly, I'm on my back. I blink in surprise. He hovers over me, chest heaving, sweat dripping off his brow. His eyes are wild, his jaw clenched. I reach up and stroke his face, my entire body reacting powerfully to just this moment. He bends down and kisses me, our mouths and tongues meeting over and over lewdly, the taste of each other and ourselves heady.

God, I never thought sex like this would be such a turn-on. I never thought anything like this would be such a turn-on.

He moves suddenly, taking a nipple into his mouth. My back arches off the bed as I push myself closer. I shove my other breast at him, hoping he'll pay attention to that one, too. His hand immediately grabs for it, fingers kneading roughly.

"Ohhhh, yes," I moan, clutching at his hair. I pull at it but it doesn't faze him, even though it has to hurt. He switches breasts, sucking greedily at that one, too. My hips thrust up, searching for something. I press myself against his knee, braced between my thighs, and I undulate wildly. I moan at the contact as my hands grab at his back, scratching at him. He hisses quietly, his eyes flicking up to meet mine, but it just makes me clutch at him harder.

He bends down suddenly, his mouth between my legs again, and I almost fly off the bed. He pushes his fingers into me, my toes curling in response, and he starts thrusting madly. I grab at the sheet beneath me as I push toward him and my feet come up to brace on his back. I feel like crying it's so good.

"Chandler! Oh, my _God_ , YES!"

His mouth disappears and my eyes fly open. He's watching me intently, his entire body vibrating. He grabs my leg and lifts it over his head so that he's no longer between them, but propped up next to me, semi-reclined. His hand starts to move fast, faster than he's ever done before, and I feel a wave building in me unlike anything I've ever felt.

:"Yes, Monica," he gasps, his eyes gleaming. " _Yes_. Oh, my God."

My eyes grow wide as I watch him, my hips trying desperately to keep up. He leans over, pressing wild kisses to my stomach, his tongue darting in and out of my bellybutton frantically. His free hand reaches up and grabs a breast, massaging it none-too-gently.

"Ahhhh!" It seems that _gentle_ isn't something I need right now.

He watches me again, his gaze alternating between my face and what his hand is doing. He slides a little closer to my hips, his teeth scraping against the soft flesh of my thigh for a moment. His hand moves up and down at a rapid-fire pace and I snap. My entire body shakes violently, twisting out of control. My hips thrust wildly and I grab at anything I can reach.

"OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGODCHANDLERYESYESFUCKOHMYGOD!" I have no idea if what I screamed was in English or not, all I know is there was no way I could control it. I spasm, my body going in strange directions as wave after amazing wave courses through me; I've never had an orgasm like this before in my life. My ears start to ring. Chandler doesn't let up. I reach down, my fingers rubbing frantically over myself to draw this out. I yell out again, my hips surging up, and I could swear that I've left my body.

His hand disappears without warning. He grabs my leg again and pushes it up. I feel him press a kiss to the inner thigh of my other leg before he moves into position. I crack my eyes, finding him kneeling between my legs, his entire body straining toward me.

"Diaphragm?" he asks, plunging into me without waiting for an answer. I cry out at the sensation, my knee draped over his shoulder. I reach forward and dig my fingers into his ass, pulling him against me as hard as I can. He surges forward over and over and over, his hands braced on either side of my shoulders, and everything but this is gone.

"Diaphragm?" he repeats, his hips not slowing, never slowing, slamming into me again and again.

"Yeah," I finally gasp, his question sinking in. "Uh-huh ohhhhhhh. Ohhhhh, _Christ_ , Chandler ohhhhhhh. Yeah, yeah, yeah."

He grins at me, the look predatory, and I grin back at him. He turns his head, pressing his lips against my calf muscle before one of his hands grabs onto my leg, keeping it in place. He falls forward until we're almost chest to chest. I can feel my muscles stretching and pulling, my body contorting in ways it's not used to. I gasp and shudder, the angle absolutely exquisite. He kisses me, and I can still taste myself on his lips. Definitely never expected _that_ to be a turn on, but I'll be damned if doesn't do things to me that I never expected. I drag one hand up his back, scratching my nails into his skin, and it makes him thrust harder.

"Shit, Monica! Oh, my God!" He presses his forehead against mine for a few seconds, his breath hot and heavy against my mouth, before he pushes himself to his knees. I keep my knee over his shoulder, loving the way it makes everything feel. He grabs onto my hips and pulls me toward him faster, his head falling back as his mouth drops open. "Oh, _shit,_ you feel so incredible."

I clutch at his forearm, pulling myself against him as fast and as hard as I can. I want another orgasm. I want it _bad_. I don't know if he can hold out long enough for me to have another one, but I know he wouldn't leave me wanting. He might be half unconscious, but he'll make sure I come again. The cords in his neck stand out, and his face turns red from the strain. There has honestly never been anything as sexy as this man in this moment.

I let go of his ass and slide my hand down his chest to his stomach. His head falls forward and his eyes open, watching me. I give him a smile as my fingers trail down a little more, touching him the base of his erection gently as he disappears into me. His fingers dig into my sides, pulling me faster, and the orgasm I want so desperately is suddenly knocking on the door. I don't hesitate before I move my fingers to my sensitive flesh, rubbing quickly. The red from his face trails most of the way down his torso. His eyes grow huge as he watches me. "Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes," he chants in time with our motions.

"Chandler," I sigh, already content despite being wound up tighter than a spring. " _Oh, yes_." Just like that, I no longer care about having another orgasm—I just want him to come. I just want to see him happy and fulfilled. I've gotten mine and now it's his turn. I smile at him lovingly, my fingers slowing down as I thrust against him, clenching my inner muscles around him to help him along. I don't know if he can sense the shift or if he's just that into it, but his thumb presses over my fingers and my entire body clenches before flying apart. I spasm against him, pushing as fast as I can. He moves his hand wildly against mine, the feeling intense and overwhelming, and my body freezes. My back is arched off the bed, my head pressing against the mattress, and I have my hips fused with his. My thighs tremble again as my mouth opens, no sound coming out this time until I gasp for air.

"God! Oh, _GOD!_ " I yell, my body finally unlocking. My free leg wraps around his hips as I thrust violently, the orgasm he just coaxed out of me powerful and sudden and completely incredible. My hands grab at everything as I thrust harder and harder, making no attempts to muffle my moans and shouts.

His hands scramble over me suddenly and I can tell by the way the rest of him is moving that he's falling over the edge. I grab one of his hands, our fingers locking, and I squeeze, letting him know that I'm there. His other hand holds onto my leg, pulling me faster, faster, faster until his face changes, agony and ecstasy merging beautifully once more. His hips move out of control for a few moments as he groans. His entire body shakes as he releases and I moan quietly, holding onto him as tightly as I can as I ride out my own personal storm.

Just like that, his body slumps. He gasps, his chin against his chest. His fingers still clutch at me but I don't mind. I give his hand a squeeze to let him know that I've got him.

He peeks up at finally, smiling unevenly. My chest is still heaving as I struggle to come back down to earth. He finally lets go of my hip and slides his hand up my leg, kissing my knee. "Did I hurt you?" he asks, his voice raspy.

I shake my head, swallowing heavily. "Never. You could never hurt me."

With great care he lowers my leg to the bed, giving the muscles a gentle rub before he collapses on top of me. I can feel him inside of me, still semi-hard, and I know that if I were to start thrusting again, I could have him back in business in a matter of minutes. Some nights, we have the energy for that. This is not one of those nights.

"Are you sure?" he whispers, framing my face.

"I promise." I slide a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. "I love you," I whisper before tilting my head, deepening the kiss. I feel his arms wrap around me as he pulls me closer, moaning quietly into my mouth. While I initially started off as the clingy one after sex, it very quickly became obvious that Chandler needs just as much post-coital contact as I do. I wrap a leg around his and sigh, smiling lazily.

He rests his head against my shoulder, humming contentedly. "I can't believe that happened."

"What?" I whisper, pushing the hair away from his forehead.

"You don't know?"

I cringe. "Did I do something gross without realizing it? Because you know I can't be held accountable for things that happen during sex."

He smiles, kissing my collarbone. "No, it was incredible, though I suppose the terminology leaves something to be desired."

My forehead crinkles in confusion and I lean back a little to get a good look at him. He certainly doesn't look disgusted. In fact, he looks very much like the cat that ate the canary. "What happened?"

"You—" He pauses, looking a little sheepish before shrugging. "You squirted."

My eyes grow wide and I think I can feel my cheeks heat up. "Uhh…I think we prefer the term 'va-jaculate.'"

He grins, leaning up to capture my lips for a moment. "I told you there wasn't a good word for it."

"So, ummm, when did this magical event happen?"

"Don't be embarrassed, Monica," he says softly, situating himself more completely against me. "Do you know how elusive that is? Most men go their entire lives without ever getting to experience it. It's practically an urban legend, it's so hard to come by." He grins at me unabashed. "No pun intended."

"I really did it?" I ask, embarrassment being pushed to the side by a combination of fascination and complete awe that Chandler managed to elicit this from me. "I didn't even know I could."

"I guess 'Happy Move In Day' sex brought it out in you."

"I think having an amazing sex partner brought it out in me." His chest puffs out a little, and I know that if he was the sort to brag about what we do in bed, he'd be shouting this from the rooftops in the morning. As it is, I'm starting to feel extraordinarily giddy about it. I think _I_ want to brag about it. "Congratulations, hon." He leans forward and kisses me again, his grin almost getting in the way. "So, when _did_ it happen?"

"Remember all the hand stuff I did?" he asks, his fingers dancing across my side, and I nod. "That's when. You damn near catapulted off the bed. You might have done it a little bit at the end, too, but I was too far gone to take notes."

I feel a satisfied smile spread across my face. "So _that's_ what that was. I've never felt anything like that in my life. How'd you make it happen?"

He grins at me sheepishly, his cheeks turning a little pink. "I found an instructional video."

My eyes grow wide before I burst out laughing. "You're kidding me."

"I almost wish I was."

"There's an instructional video for _that_?" I ask through my laughter.

"There's a video for _everything_ , honey. The internet is full of porn," he tells me matter-of-factly.

"I'm aware, but still…who knew someone would give step-by-step instructions for something like that?"

"Hey, there are a lot of guys out there that want to make their women happy and keep them satisfied. If one is patient enough to sift through all the other garbage, there's actually some stuff out there that's helpful. I'll show you the video at some point, if you want."

"Nah; I'll let it remain a mystery." I sigh and stretch a little before wrapping my limbs around him. "You've set the bar _very_ high now, stud. Think you can replicate the experience?"

"If it takes the rest of my life, I will make you do that again," he vows seriously, and I believe him completely.

I run my fingers through his hair again with another sigh before we kiss slowly. My body feels weary and ready to drop, though between the hours of moving, unpacking, and now the unbelievable sex, I'm not surprised.

He kisses me a few more times before leaning over the side of the bed, opening the door of one of the nightstands. "Towel, milady?" he asks, snapping it out and presenting it gallantly. I smile a little ruefully but nod anyway. It's not so bad when we use the condoms, but when we rely on just my diaphragm, there tends to be a bit of…runoff afterwards. To his credit, Chandler has never let it be awkward, not since that first time in the shower when he so tenderly wiped me clean. We both acknowledge that sex is messy, and as way of thanking me for going bareback, he's always willing to help with clean up. He never takes offense when I cringe at strange sensations or if I rush to pee after sex, which is the recommended course of action though a complete mood killer. But, to keep the bed from being too super disgusting after sex, we started keeping extra towels nearby. They come in handy when the last thing I want to do is move.

I love that he's so good to me, especially about the mundane things. Just one of the millions reasons that I know he's the one.

I shift my hips and he arranges the towel beneath us, and even though it still feels a little awkward for me at times, I'm so grateful that he thinks about it. I turn onto my side and he scoots up behind me, pulling the blankets with him as he molds his curves and angles against mine. He kisses my shoulder before reaching around me, turning off the bedside lamp. He fiddles with the baby monitor for a few seconds before settling down. His arm drapes across my stomach and I put mine over it, sliding my fingers between his. He squeezes them reassuringly and I turn my head. Our lips meet tenderly as we kiss slowly, and I feel a little rush go through me that lets me know I'll probably be waking him up in a few hours to go another round.

"I love you," he whispers, pressing himself against me a little tighter.

"I know."

He kisses me again before he settles his head onto the pillow, letting out a sigh. I let my head droop too, smiling a little when I feel his lips against my shoulder blade.

"Welcome home, Mon."

A happy tear squeezes out of my eye at his words and I let my eyes drift shut, pure and utter bliss carrying me off to sleep.

* * *

*A/N…I'm all right, guys. I appreciate the concern and I'm sorry for ghosting on you. That certainly wasn't the intent. The world took a sudden, violent turn and…yeah. Anyway, I had some anxiety about posting this chapter, mostly because it has some elements I've never used before. A long while back, people asked me to write "69," and I never did because I couldn't find a way for it to feel attractive, but I think this came close. There's also anxiety because it's been a while since I posted, and I'm naturally excessively anxious about life in general. But also…this is going to be it for me for a while. I'm sure that's a relief to some of you, but I apologize to anyone disappointed by it. Sadly, I have a lot of this story written, but it's probably been a month since I added anything to it. My heart's just not in it. I'm not getting out of writing for this fandom that I used to. I'm not blaming any of you for that. It would be easy to pinpoint a few people/situations and scream into the wind and say that's to blame, but ultimately, my reactions to these situations are mine and mine alone. I don't need to take things so personally, but I always do. Not anyone's fault but mine, and I'm placing the blame squarely on my shoulders.

I guess it boils down to, though, that I'm letting them win. I shouldn't, but I also have to figure out if fighting it is worth the effort. Do I need to put myself through emotional hell for something that should be a release? So, if old what's-her-face needs the attention of being the "best" writer here, she can have it. I own my low self-esteem. I'm fully aware of it. She, however, is not. And by all means, don't stop reading her stuff if it's something you enjoy. Just one piece of advice, about her or anyone like her—the first time she says something cruel to you, then says she's just trying to toughen your skin, run. Run fast and don't look back. That is not, in fact, something a friend does. A friend may tell you that you need to toughen up, but they certainly wouldn't insult you under the guise of helping you. That's not something any decent human being does.

Anyway…maybe I'll finish this story one day. Maybe telling all of you that my heart is no longer in it will be the kick in the ass I need to write again. I really don't see me posting any more of this one, though. A pity, because the next couple of chapters are bits that have stuck with me for years, and I actually wrote a chapter that is about 10,000 words long, and it's likely none of it will ever see the light of day. I'm being a dick now, though, aren't I?

I'm not begging for attention or reviews. My intent is not to have you guys desperate for me to post anything or sending me messages or what have you. I just wanted to let you know that I'm okay, at least more or less. I didn't want anyone to really worry about me. That said, please feel free to send me a message once in a while if you want to say hi. I'm good with that. I'm not really ever on Twitter anymore, but I've been on this site for more than ten years—I think it's safe to say that I'm not leaving this place. And don't be surprised if you see me writing for other fandoms—I have some ideas rolling around in my brain that might need an outlet.

Also, I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for all of the support. I may have a horrible way of showing it at times, but it has meant the world to me. It kept me sane when I was trying to get over the break-ins, and it distracted me while I was in complete and utter denial about my uncle's incurable illness. If there's ever someone else like me who pops onto the scene and who's had a rough time of it...be patient. People like me don't really mean to be assholes—we just don't know how to handle life and take it out on the wrong people.


	35. Chapter 35

_Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up._

* * *

I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket and I shift my grocery bags around to grab for it. I barely have time to see that it's Rachel before I answer breathlessly. "Hello?"

"Did you know this guy can eat more in one day than I can in an entire week?" she asks without preamble.

I snicker and do my best to adjust everything in my arms. "Trouble in paradise?"

"You should have warned me that he's a human trash compactor."

"We told you he knew how to eat, Rache. You saw him in action at Thanksgiving, too. Plus, you know, we've all eaten together before."

"It's a little different when you're one on one with him. He doesn't blend in with the crowd as much."

"Well, if it gets to the point where you can't handle it, just call his mom."

She makes a noise in my ear. "You want me to tell on him?"

"Yep. It's a trick Chandler learned by accident when he was talking to Mrs. Tribbiani one day. Apparently, when Joey's eating habits start to get out of control, his mother will call and yell at him, or if it's really desperate, she'll come yell in person. That sets him straight for a while."

"Awesome. Will you text me her number so I can have it ready?"

"Of course," I answer with a laugh. "Sorry—we forgot to put this part in the owner's manual."

"Hey, it's not so bad. Yeah, he eats a lot but he's actually really nice. He's not as uptight as you are about cleanliness and order."

I roll my eyes and try to pull my jacket tighter around me, my bags clunking against my side. "Gee, thanks, Rache. Sorry I'm so fond of preventing cockroach infestations."

"I'm just saying it's nice to be able to leave my shoes in the living room at night, or not worry about washing the dishes _right_ after dinner."

I actually shudder a little at that thought. "Are you trying to freak me out?"

"A little," she answers with a laugh. "I can tell it's working, too." She pauses for a moment, and I feel just a little wistful—we may not have gotten along famously the last few months but that doesn't change the fact that she's been my best friend and roommate for years. It definitely feels different now. "So how's married life?" she asks, clearing her throat.

I grin, tucking my phone between my ear and my shoulder as I pull my keys out of my pocket. "Aside from the fact that we're not married, everything's great."

"God, I can I hear you smiling from here. Stop being so happy all the time, Monica," she teases, making my smile grow even wider.

Despite the fact that I officially moved in with Chandler in October, it's only been a few weeks since Joey moved out. Both he and Rachel liked the idea of not having to search for a roommate, but neither was terribly fond of living with a near stranger so they spent a good portion of November hanging out and getting to know each other. Fortunately for all of us, it was basically a match made in heaven. They get along spectacularly and have a lot of fun together.

Chandler and I realize how lucky we got, though, and that the entire move went as smoothly as it did. So far, living with Chandler and Katie has been one of the best things ever.

"I'll work on it, I promise," I answer as I unlock the front door of my building before trudging up the stairs. "You have any hot plans for tonight?"

"Oh, yeah," she answers sarcastically. "It's Saturday night—of _course_ I have plans. First, I'm going to take a shower, then I'm going to paint my toenails before I curl up with Netflix and a bottle of wine before falling asleep by ten."

Ah yes, of course. She and Ross are currently in an "off again" phase. "So I take it Joey's out for the night."

"Joey's been out all day. He had dates with multiple people or multiple people on one date, I really don't know. It's hard to keep up. The dude has sex, like, all the time. It must be because he's Italian." We both laugh before she continues. "What about you guys?"

"We have a big night, too," I confirm. "I just dropped by the store to pick up stuff for dinner—"

"He doesn't have dinner ready for you? Haven't you been working all day? No, haven't you been _cooking_ all day?"

"The fact that you can ask me that shows that you have never tasted his cooking. His expertise lies in ordering takeout. Besides, we're trying to make sure Katie gets healthy food, and at least if we make it at home, we know what's in it."

"Fair enough," she answers.

"So we'll eat dinner and play with Katie and give her a bath and probably just go to bed early, too. Except, you know, we'll be naked." Rachel grumbles under her breath and I grin again. "And moaning."

"I got it."

"And thrusting and—"

"Thank you, Monica!"

I burst out laughing as I finally make it to the sixth floor, the sound of a baby crying greeting my ears instantly. "Uh-oh. Duty calls."

"Is that Katie?" she asks, sounding concerned.

"Yeah. I'll talk to you later, all right?"

"All right. Bye Mon."

"Bye," I answer as I hit "end" on my phone before shoving it back into my pocket. I slide the key into the slot and push the door open, my eyes growing wide as I take the place in. It's a complete disaster area. Everything was in order when I left this morning, but now everything that's about two feet and down has been pulled from their spots on shelves and tables, every toy in the world is strewn about, clothes—both baby and ours—are tossed all over the couches and chairs, and the sink is full of dirty dishes.

"Jesus, where have you been?" Chandler asks, appearing in front of me suddenly, Katie red-faced and screaming in his arms.

"At the store," I answer, slowly pulling off my winter gear and hanging it up. "I texted you when I left work."

"Well, why didn't you call? I don't know where my phone is."

I crinkle my forehead at him. " _How_ was I supposed to know that your phone is missing? And what good would calling it have done if you don't know where it is?"

"Just…take her, would you? I can't get her to stop." He thrusts Katie at me and I wrap my arms around her.

"Oh, honey," I croon. "What's the matter? Are you sick?" I press my lips to her forehead, but she's so worked up from crying that her entire body feels warm.

"No, Monica, she's not sick," Chandler snaps. "Don't you think that's the first thing I checked? She doesn't have a fever."

I look up at him incredulously. "Don't bite my head off. How am I supposed to know?"

"Well, damn, I do know to check for these things."

"I never said you didn't." I bounce Katie gently back and forth, her cries not quieting down. "It's okay, Katie, I've got you. You're all right. Has she been like this long?"

"Only since noon or so," he answers as he goes the fridge and opens it, glancing at the contents, and closing the door a moment later.

"Oh, no," I say to Katie, pulling her away from me just a little to look at her. I try to keep my voice soothing. "What happened?"

"Hell if I know. She started whining and I thought she was tired, but it just got worse after I put her down for her nap. I tried to sing and read stories but she just kept screaming."

"So she never got to nap?" I ask, rubbing her back, her volume finally decreasing just a little.

"Isn't that what I just said?"

"God, Chandler—what's with you? I just walked in the door. It's not like _I_ made her cry or something."

He crosses his arms over his chest defensively. "Are you saying that I did?"

"How did you hear that? That's not what I said at all."

He purses his lips, staring me down for a few moments before he waves his hand. "Whatever. I was going to try putting her down again."

"For a nap? Now?" I ask, shifting away from him just a little.

"Yes, of course for a nap. She's probably bitching because she's tired."

"That doesn't mean she gets to take a nap _now_ ," I answer, looking at the clock on the microwave. "It's already after five. If she naps now, she'll never sleep tonight."

"If she's tired, she needs to sleep," he says, holding out his hands for her.

Katie looks at him for a moment before turning away, wrapping her arms around my neck. Her breathing hitches a few times and she rubs her face against my shoulder, but her cries have diminished significantly. "So we'll put her to bed earlier tonight. I'm sure she'll be ready for it." I kiss the back of her head and go over to the cabinet, pulling out a box of Cheerios. "Katie-did, are you hungry? You need a snack?" She lifts her head at the crinkle of the bag, holding out her hand. I give her a piece of cereal and she shoves it in her mouth, chomping contentedly. "There. Isn't that better?"

"Aren't you going to spoil her appetite by feeding her _now_ before we eat dinner?" Chandler asks sarcastically, but I try to ignore him. Instead, I grab out a big pot and fill it with water, putting it on the stove to boil. Most of our meals these days include pasta of some sort because it's easy for Katie to pick up and not really a choking hazard.

"If she hasn't taken a nap, she's needs more fuel to keep her going," I answer, watching Katie as she watches the pot, her hand tapping on my chest. "I probably won't have dinner ready until six or so, anyway. It'll be okay if she eats something now to tide her over." I kiss her cheek but she ignores me, holding out her hand for more cereal. "Katie, can you say _please_?" She breathes heavily a few times, smacking her lips as she eyes the Cheerios.

Chandler mumbles something under his breath and goes to the fridge again. I take a deep breath and focus on Katie, handing her pieces of cereal as I pull out ingredients for the rest of our meal. Whatever has crawled up Chandler's ass will fix itself at some point, and he'll feel bad for being such a dick.

Still, I'd like to know what caused this.

"Aren't you putting the pasta in too early?" he asks suddenly, appearing at my shoulder. "Won't it be ready way before everything else if you're cooking it now?"

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye—his tone is still snippy. "I'm cooking just a little bit of it now so Katie can get started on her dinner first."

He lets out a huff of air before he walks away again, and a few moments later I hear the TV come on. I turn from the oven and gape at the back of his head—the entire apartment looks like it exploded and he's just going to veg on the couch while I cook dinner after being at work all day?

I take a few deep breaths and smile at Katie, who looks alarmed. I kiss the top of her head, bouncing her again. "Bah," she says, reaching for her Cheerios.

"Cereal," I tell her as I put another one in her hand. " _Cereal_."

"She can't say that yet," he grumbles from the couch, flipping through channels too fast to see anything.

I put the food into the oven and walk over to the couch, tapping his shoulder. "You know, the place is a pigsty. Could you maybe pick up a few things around here, at least enough so that no one will fall and break their neck?"

"What's the point?" he asks, stabbing at the remote control. "You're just going to go behind me and organize it the way you want."

"I will not," I answer, exasperated. "And I've never heard you complain before about me cleaning up after your messes."

"Whatever."

I open my mouth to respond but just shake my head, going to back to the pasta that's nearly ready. I take out a colander and scoop it out of the boiling water, running cold water over it to get it to Katie's temperature. She claps her hands, smiling at the food, and I can't help but smile back at her. "I know," I tell her. "You're my big girl, aren't you?"

I plop her in her highchair and strap her in, tying a bib around her neck. She smacks her hands against her tray, yelling out loudly, letting me know that she's ready to eat. The channels on the TV change at a rapid-fire pace and I roll my eyes. Apparently, his daughter is interrupting his TV time.

After I put the pasta on a plate, I cut it up into small, Katie-sized bites and add some cheese to it, her latest favorite. Her eyes grow wide as I put it in front of her, her little pincer-like fingers not waiting to attack. I pull up my chair next to her and stroke her soft hair. "You were just hungry, weren't you? You're a growing girl—it happens."

"You know, I was home taking care of her all day," Chandler says suddenly. "She's a lot of work. It's not like I had a lot of time to stop and clean everything."

I sigh, rubbing my hands over my face. "Chandler, I'm not saying you did. All I said was that instead of watching TV, you could clean up a little."

"I think I've earned some time to relax."

"Oh, and I haven't? I was at work all day, you know, on my feet. I came home to cook dinner, which I don't mind doing, only to find our apartment completely wrecked and disgusting. The first thing you do is jump down my throat, and all I'm asking is that you put a few things where they belong."

"I'll get to it."

"Super!" I exclaim sarcastically. I smile at Katie, who is clumsily shoving spaghetti into her mouth while she stares at me, wide-eyed. "I don't know if you're expecting a medal or something for being at home with the baby for a day. I do it all the time, too, _without_ making it look like something blew up."

He stands and grabs a laundry basket off the ground, angrily tossing in anything and everything he can find. "Excuse me for not being perfect. Not everyone is as anal-retentive as you."

That hurts. That hurts a lot, actually. He's sniping at me completely unprovoked and now this?

"Well, is it fair to expect _me_ to come home from work to cook dinner and clean the entire apartment when you've been home all day, but you get to come home from work every night to dinner and clean clothes and a nice home? I'm not asking for blood, just that you pick up a few of her toys."

"I'm doing it! Jesus, open up your eyes and look. I'm cleaning your precious apartment."

I stare at him, dumbfounded, and I hear Katie's breath hitch again. When I look at her, her face is all scrunched up, big tears forming in her eyes. I feel the exact same way. I smile at her again, though I know it's weak at best. "No, no, sweetie, don't cry. Everything's okay."

Chandler groans in frustration, tossing the laundry basket to the floor. Katie jumps at the noise and lets out a yelp before her crying starts up again, harder than before. "Mama," she begs, holding out her arms. "Mama!"

I shake my head and stand, pulling her out of her highchair. She grabs frantically at my hair, actually shoving some of it in her mouth. I try to comfort her, but I know she has to be feeding off of me and my tension at this point. "Shhhh," I tell her. "Shhhh. It's all right. You're okay."

"How long until dinner?" Chandler asks, coming into the kitchen with his arms crossed.

"You're kidding, right?" I ask, swaying Katie back and forth as I try to get her to calm down.

"Well, you're cooking food, aren't you? Are you just going to let it go to waste?"

Katie picks up her head, her face pink and sweaty from her frantic crying. "Du!" she exclaims, pointing at Chandler.

"What is it?" he asks, surprising me by not snapping at her.

"Dada du!"

He goes to the fridge and pulls out one of her sippy cups, passing it to her waiting hand.

"Chandler!" I exclaim. "You can't do that!"

"Can't do _what_?"

"You can't just hand her something, you have to use your words."

"Monica, Katie is not an idiot. She knows what a cup is."

I sigh in exasperation, bouncing her as she tilts her cup back. "I know that, but if we just keep handing her things, she's never going to learn how to talk. She's only ever going to use grunts and gestures like this. We have to teach her that she can't just point at something and get it."

He leans against the counter, one eyebrow reaching for his hairline. "Oh, we do, do we?"

"Yes, you _know_ we do. We've talked about this. If we keep reinforcing her gibberish, she'll never learn real words."

"You know what? I'm getting tired of this. Stop telling me how to raise my kid. You're not her mother."

He should have just slapped me in the face—it would have hurt less. I feel like I've been punched in the stomach and had the wind knocked out of me. If his words before stung, this feels like he's reached into my chest and pulled out my heart. Of course, I know I'm not her mother, but to hear him say it that way…I feel tears prickle the corner of my eye so I press my face against Katie's, breathing deeply. When I finally bring myself to look at Chandler again, his jaw is set, his arms crossed tightly across his chest, and I'm probably imagining the regret I see in his eyes. I take a few steps toward him and pass Katie over, surprise on his face.

"Dinner'll be ready in about half an hour," I whisper before I turn away, hurrying into our bedroom.

I can hear Katie chattering through the door as I breathe heavily, trying to get myself under control. I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to stop the tears. A few minutes later I go to my bureau, pulling out a few shirts, underwear, and socks. I pull a pair of jeans out of the closet and go into the bathroom, grabbing my travel toiletry case from under the sink. I rifle through it to make sure everything's in place before I go back to the closet, finding a small bag buried in the back. I load everything up and take another deep breath before heading back to the rest of the apartment.

Chandler watches me out of the corner of his eye but neither of us says anything. "Mama," Katie says, reaching one arm out to me. I give her a watery smile before going to her, kissing her sweet-smelling head.

"I love you, Katie," I whisper, kissing her cheek. I avoid Chandler's eyes as I turn around, grabbing my coat off the rack. I shrug into it, patting the pockets to make sure my hat and gloves are still there.

"Where are you going?" Chandler asks, his voice finally missing the hard edge.

I force myself to face him—he and Katie are wearing identical looks of concern. "You're right," I say softly. "I'm not."

"Monica…"

"I'm not," I repeat. I grab the bag with my clothes and sling it over my shoulder, then grab my purse from the rack, too. I look at Katie again, her eyes filled with tears as her face crumples up once more.

"Mama! Mama!"

My heart splits in two as I open the front door and force myself to step into the hallway. My throat closes up, tears threatening to choke me. Inside the apartment, Katie starts to wail, calling for me at the top of her lungs. With every ounce of strength I have, I push myself away from the door and down the hall, my feet picking up speed as I hurry away, trying to put as much distance between me and the pain as I can.

And I walk. I put my head down against the cold, wind stinging my eyes as I try to fight back the tears without much success.

I don't even realize where I'm going until my feet stop and I look up—my old apartment. I grab the door as someone walks out and bolt up the stairs, nearly choking as I try to hold back my sobs. It doesn't take long before I'm standing in front of a familiar door, one I've seen a million times in my life.

My breath hitches as I lift my hand, knocking tentatively. Just moments later Rachel flings the door open, her face falling as she sees me.

"What's wrong?"

I shake my head, not trusting my voice. I close my eyes, trying to hold back the inevitable fountain of tears.

Rachel doesn't say another word. She reaches out and grabs my shoulders, pulling me into her arms. My bags drop at my feet, and something about that one thing makes all of this hurt worse than almost anything else.

What the hell just happened? Did I really just walk out on Chandler and Katie?

But…what choice did I have?

My head spins, so I just grab onto Rachel and weep.

* * *

*A/N…I have no idea what I've done in my time here to earn such loyalty from you guys, but damn…it's been almost two months since I posted and you're still reading my stuff in droves. It's really impressive and a bit humbling. Also, there's not a lot going in this fandom. When we're lucky, Baba posts an addition to one of her lovely stories, and there are a few here and there that pop up, but for the most part…crickets. You guys need me.

Hey—I'm still an asshole. That's not shocking, right?

At any rate, I'm going to work on finishing this story, but I don't know how long it'll take. Legit—I haven't written for at least two months, but I _have_ been going back and rereading this story to try to find a groove again. I'm truly hoping the severe need to write will be diminishing as some stuff has changed massively in my life in the last couple of months, too. Fingers crossed, it'll all be for the better. Next time I update, I'll go into a bit more detail on that end.

Posts will probably still be sporadic. I don't want to put up the rest of what I have written before I've finished this story (and, if memory serves, I was damn near done with it), so maybe once a week-ish? If I get distracted and forget to post after a week, feel free to poke me because time probably got away from me.

Anywho, I do appreciate the continued support. I'm going to try to not let the assholes and copycats get me down. I'd rather people don't copy my stories, because, you know, that's a dick move, but as long as people remember that I did it first/better, that's what matters. And, also, that I don't have to post a whole bunch of lil chapters to drive up my review count.

One final thing—this chapter was, at its base, part of that old original story I had in mind a million years ago, as is the next chapter. After that, though, I think it's all basically new stuff.


	36. Chapter 36

_There is no intensity of love or feeling that does not involve the risk of crippling hurt. It is a duty to take this risk, to love and feel without deserve or reserve._

* * *

I'm so tired. Of course, I got maybe an hour of sleep last night, so that probably has something to do with it. Not consecutively, of course, either.

It's the first night I spent away from Chandler in six months and it turns out that I can't sleep without him.

Actually, I don't know if that's true because I might be able to sleep without him next to me if the reason I was sleeping alone wasn't because of a big, stupid fight we'd had. That would probably change things a bit.

I blink slowly, the mug in my hand poised perpetually at my mouth, waiting for me to take a sip. At this point, I have no idea if it's even hot or cold because I don't know how long I've been sitting like this.

It certainly doesn't help that I'm sitting in the very same coffee shop where I met Chandler almost a year ago.

I feel tears fill my eyes and I swallow heavily, trying to hold it back. I've cried too much in the last fifteen or so hours and I just don't want to do it anymore.

Fortunately, last night Rachel took me readily into her apartment. She let me cry on her shoulder for a while before I could even tell her anything. When I finally spilled out the entire story, it sounded a bit ridiculous to my ears, and I definitely felt like I overreacted, but Rachel seemed pretty outraged by his behavior. I don't know if it's solidarity or she genuinely feels he was out of line, but I appreciate the support nonetheless.

It was definitely weird spending the night in that apartment again, and not the least of which was because my bedroom is no longer my bedroom. Even though Joey wasn't there, I wasn't about to invade his territory, not that I felt at all like sleeping. Instead, I sat on the couch and stared, sometimes at the TV, sometimes through it.

I definitely scared the hell out of Joey when he wandered in at the wee small hours, but he didn't say anything—either he'd already heard from Chandler and knew what was going on, or just seeing me in my old apartment meant that nothing good could have possibly happened.

Rachel stayed up with me for as long as she could, only going to bed when I tucked myself into the couch so that she wouldn't worry too much about me. My phone rang for a while when I first got there, with text messages arriving in between, until Rachel finally took it and turned down the volume. When I wouldn't stop reacting to every vibration it made, she hid it in her bedroom so I wouldn't have to stare at it all night. When she finally handed it back to me this morning, I had more than fifty missed calls and just as many voicemails, and more than a hundred new text messages.

I couldn't bring myself to look at any of them.

In between all that, he would intermittently call Rachel's cell and landline, but all she would tell him was that I wasn't there. I doubt he believed her, but she never budged on her story.

I'm sure he wants to apologize but…I'm still hurt. Not even completely about what he said, either, though that part doesn't feel good, but everything about the way he acted from the moment I set foot in the door last night was appalling and hurtful and just _mean_. I have no idea what I did to deserve that. I'm sure if I talked to him, I'd get some sort of explanation but I just don't know if I'm ready to hear it.

A shudder works through my body at the thought of this being the end of us, but I push that away. Couples have fights all the time. It's not that big of a deal, and it certainly doesn't mean we're going to break up.

I just wish everything didn't hurt so much.

Finally, around eight, Rachel forced me into the shower and would occasionally stick her head into the bathroom to remind me to wash and shampoo. Fifteen minutes later, she dragged me out of the shower and made me dry my hair and get dressed. When I refused to eat, she insisted we go get coffee, saying that it would be good for me to do something.

Not long after we got there, Ross showed up, followed by Phoebe and Mike, and finally a bleary-eyed Joey. I'm guessing Rachel told all of them the story somehow—probably while I was in the shower—because they've all been hugging me and looking at me sympathetically as I hold my coffee cup. I'm vaguely aware of them having conversations around me, but none of it registers.

"How you doing, Mon?" Rachel asks gently, putting her hand on my arm.

Slowly, I turn to her, that one small action making everything ache. I shrug as tears fill my eyes and she takes the mug out of my hand and puts it on one of the tables before gathering me in her arms. A moment later I feel Phoebe cuddle up on the other side of me.

"I just can't believe he would say that," she says suddenly, sounding disgusted.

"Which part, Pheebs?" I ask tiredly.

"Uh, the part where he said you're not Katie's mother. That's complete bullshit."

I shrug again, pulling myself out of their arms. "He didn't say anything that's not true."

"Really, Mon?" Ross asks, appalled. "How can you even say that?"

"Because I'm _not_ Katie's mother. I never have been."

"Well, he's done a piss-poor job of pretending that you're not," Phoebe says. "He certainly acts like you're her mother. Joey, you've been around them the most. Doesn't Chandler act like Monica is Katie's mother?"

Joey looks up, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Uhhh, I don't know. Chandler's my friend. I don't want to—"

"He's my friend, too," Phoebe insists, "but that doesn't mean you can't answer a true or false question."

He shifts again, fiddling with a sugar packet. "Well, yeah, I guess he's always wanted Katie to feel comfortable around Monica and I guess—"

"It's okay, Joey," I tell him, and his shoulders droop in relief. "Look, guys, the whole 'not her mother' thing isn't really the issue." That's a lie, because it definitely is at least part of it. "The last couple of months, Chandler and I have gotten very relaxed about correcting Katie when she calls me 'Mama.' I don't remember it happening specifically, so I don't know if he stopped first or I did, I just know that at one point, I realized that it wasn't happening anymore. I meant to change it, but I guess I never did. So, I've been used to her calling me that, and it's really sweet and it makes me happy to hear her talking to me, so I guess I haven't discouraged it. And true, we have been more or less splitting parenting duties for a while."

Rachel snorts and we all turn toward her. "More or less. Right. I'd say it's been pretty equal for a long time. I mean, haven't you been the one picking her up from daycare and making sure she eats, and aren't you even taking her to her doctor's appointments lately? I don't know if you're giving yourself enough credit about this, Mon."

"Still, guys, it was just the whole thing that upset me. That last comment was just the straw that broke the camel's back. I know I'm blowing it all out of proportion, because he's never treated me like that before, and I should have been a grown up and stuck around to talk to him. Running away isn't really a solution."

"Sometimes taking a step back is the best thing you can do," Mike says, looking at Phoebe.

"Really?" I ask. "Do you two fight like that?"

"Oh, all the time," Phoebe answers, nodding vigorously. "We fight like crazy sometimes. I think the more you love someone, the more nuts they can make you. Sometimes when we're having a fight, we'll just stop. One of us will leave the room or the apartment or even the city so we can cool down and get some perspective. It might take five minutes, it might take a day, but usually it gives us both a chance to see that we're acting irrationally and apologize."

"Yeah, and maybe you two needed a little break from each other," Ross points out. "I mean, you've been together basically nonstop for what, eight months now? It doesn't sound like you fight a lot, but maybe you just needed to let off some steam."

"Well, I don't feel like I let off any steam," I answer. "I just feel like I got jumped." I shudder and stand up, eager to avoid their well-meaning but slightly over-bearing presence and go look at the bakery counter as an excuse more than needing food. I can still feel their eyes on me, though.

But I do my best make it look like I'm _really_ studying the croissants. My stomach is a giant knot, so it's not like I could eat if I wanted to.

I make sure to step out of the way of the people behind me, and I can hear the conversations amongst my friends returning to normal. The door behind me opens, a cold blast of wind hitting my back, and suddenly I hear a baby crying.

My back stiffens, my hackles go up, and everything in me is on alert. I'd know that sound anywhere.

No—I'd know _her_ anywhere.

I turn around to see Chandler standing in the doorway, eyes red, face pale and drawn, with Katie in his arms. Katie, who's bundled up so much she can barely move and is crying her little heart out. I feel my insides twist as hot tears spill down my cheeks.

I've only been away from them for a few hours, but I've missed them horribly.

Katie sees me and starts to wiggle violently, stretching out her arms toward me. "Mama! Mama!" she sobs, breaking my heart.

I hurry across the room to them, holding out my arms before I ever get there. Chandler passes her to me and I clutch her to my chest, weeping. She grabs onto me, her little fingers grasping at anything she can find as I kiss her cheeks.

"Mama's here," I whisper. "Mama's got you. Oh, Katie, you're all right. Shhhh, shhhhh, shhhh, you're all right." I know I'm not helping her by crying into her neck, but there's nothing I can do to stop it at this point. "I'm so sorry I left you. I'll never do it again. Never ever ever ever."

The poor thing doesn't stop wailing. If she was already fussy and cranky yesterday, I can't imagine that it's gotten any better since I left last night.

Finally, I look up to Chandler. His eyes are full of pain and regret, dark bags shadowing them to make him look thoroughly exhausted. I have the briefest flash of being happy that being apart was just as bad for him, but that thought is immediately chased away by sadness. He may have started it last night, but that doesn't mean I ever want to see him in pain.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice hoarse and choked. "Oh, God, Mon, I'm—"

I reach out a free arm and pull him to me, burying my face in his chest. His arms immediately wrap around me and hold on tight. I can hear his heart racing beneath my ear. "It's okay," I finally manage to breathe, but I feel him shake his head against mine.

"No, it's not. I was such an ass. I—" He stops suddenly and I look up at him. His eyes are focused behind me and when I turn around our friends are suddenly very studiously avoiding us. I glance around the shop and see that the place has gone mostly quiet, the other patrons watching me and Chandler curiously. "Can we go somewhere and talk?"

I nod and Katie hiccups against my neck before letting out another sob and I bounce her gently, rubbing her back. "Just let me get my coat."

Before I can move, he weaves through our little group of friends and grabs it and my purse off the back of the couch I'd been sitting on. He's careful to avoid making eye contact with anyone—I'm sure he's imagining the worst and that I've told them nothing but horrible things, so I don't know if I blame him for that.

He helps me into my jacket and I smile tremulously at everyone. "Thanks, guys. Rachel, I'll come by to pick up my stuff, all right?"

"Okay, Mon," she answers softly. "Call me if you need anything."

I feel Chandler tentatively put his hand on the small of my back and gently usher me out the door. The cold air smacks me in the face and I wrap the edges of my jacket around Katie, keeping her bundled against me as we walk in an uncomfortable silence for a while; this is the first time since I met him ten months ago that I haven't felt completely at ease with him and it's awful. Katie, for her part, seems to be losing steam and though she's not finished crying, she certainly isn't at the decibel level of just a couple of minutes ago. "Oh, Katie," I say softly, pressing my cheek against the top of her hat-covered head. "Everything's all right."

"Mama," she says weakly as she tries to curl against me, holding onto me as tightly as her little body can.

Chandler stops walking suddenly, so I stop, too, turning to face him. "Monica, I am so, so, so, so, so sorry. I am such an asshole."

I shake my head at him, sniffling a little. "No, you're not."

"Mon—"

"You're not an asshole, Chandler. You behaved like one last night, sure, but that's not who you usually are."

The corner of his mouth quirks up just a little. "I was such a bastard to you," he whispers. "I'm so sorry."

"You were," I agree. "But I shouldn't have left."

"I didn't give you much reason to stick around, did I?"

"That doesn't mean I should just walk away." Katie squeaks a little and I loosen my grip on her just a fraction. "I never should have walked away."

He takes my arm and guides me toward a bench, sitting as close to me as he dares. "Look…I fucked up. I don't have any good reason for treating you that way. There's no excuse for it. You're the love of my life, Monica, you know that, right? I never want to hurt you."

"But you did," I whisper, my heart breaking as his face crumples. "I'm sorry, but you did. I'm sure I hurt you, too, and I'm so unbelievably sorry for that. Sometimes it's easier to hurt the ones you love, though, isn't it? It's easy to push people away and try to test their loyalty because then you can see who comes back, and the ones you love are supposed to love you no matter what, you know? Warts and all." I pause, carefully leaning my head against his arm. "I'll always come back to you, Chandler. I don't know if there's anything you could do to make me love you less."

"I'm sure there is, but I'm going to do my best to make sure I don't do any of those things. Last night was hell on earth and I don't ever want to live through that again. There's no sleeping without you next to me."

"It's the worst, isn't it?" I ask, letting out a watery laugh. "It was horrible."

"Maybe if the circumstances were different I could handle it, but I can tell you that I definitely don't want to. And poor Katie." He reaches over, rubbing her back gently. "She barely slept, too. She cried most of the night when she wasn't asking for you. It was the most heartbreaking thing in the world. She has to be exhausted."

I look down at her to find her mouth hanging open, eyes firmly shut as she breathes deeply. "She's out," I tell him. "We'll have to figure out how to fix her sleep schedule later because I just don't have the heart to wake her."

He smiles at me ruefully, scooting just a little closer to me. "It took you five minutes to do what I couldn't do all day yesterday. No one has a way with her like you do, Monica. No one. If I ever say something stupid again about you not being her mother, feel free to punch me as hard as you can."

My eyes fill with tears. "You just…you let me know where my place is, that's all. You were right. I'm not—"

" _You_ _are her mother_ ," he states firmly. "You _are_ , and it was awful of me say anything else. You're a great mother, and she loves you. Obviously," he adds with a laugh. "Look how much she needs you. I think you're the only one who can really make her feel better, and I'm okay with that. Sometimes, it feels like _you_ were the one who was supposed to be her mother; she just had to have someone else carry her. DNA doesn't matter."

My heart flips around, feeling a million different things at once. "Chandler—"

"It's okay with me. I like you being her mama. If it bothers you, we'll go back to working on the whole 'Monica' thing, but one day she'll just ask us why she calls her mommy by her first name."

I close my eyes, feeling warm tears spill down my face. "Okay," I finally answer, and it feels kind of amazing. I'm openly acknowledging— _we_ are, actually—that I'm Katie's mother. Maybe he's right, maybe everyone is right. Maybe I really am her mommy. I just didn't get to give birth to her.

"Okay?" he whispers. "So, we're doing this? Katie's gonna call you 'Mama' and you're going to be all right with it?"

"I already am," I answer. "I love hearing her say it. It's the best thing I've ever been called."

He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. I feel him kiss the top of my head before he sighs deeply. "I'm still sorry about what I said, though. You've been helping me raise her for half of her life now and just because I was being shitty doesn't mean I should have ever said something like that. I'd never even _thought_ it until that moment. It was horrible and uncalled for and I'll try to find some way to make it up to for the rest of my life."

"Don't," I answer, shaking my head. "That's not how I want to live our life. I'll be honest, it might take me some time to get over it, but I promise I won't hold it over your head forever. But…can I ask…"

"Go ahead, honey. Ask me anything."

 _Honey_. It's such an unbelievable relief to hear him call me that. "I know you said you don't have a good explanation for how you were acting, but can you at least give me some sort of reasoning for it? I mean, was it something I did? I know we're still getting used to living with each other, and it's different than when I was technically just spending the night every night, but—"

"God, no. Monica, you didn't do anything."

"Then why did you jump down my throat the minute I walked through the door? Everything was fine when I left in the morning."

I feel his shoulders droop and I look at him. His mouth is downturned, his face not masking his pain, but he says nothing. I turn back to watching the world pass around us, waiting. I feel Katie exhale against my neck, snoring and smacking her lips. I close my eyes and rest my cheek against the top of her head. I could easily fall asleep like this.

"I'm scared."

My eyes snap open and my head shoots up, and I blink at Chandler a few times before I can respond. "Huh?"

He smiles at me ruefully. "I'm scared, Monica."

"You're scared?" I whisper, confused. "Of what?"

He shakes his head and buries his face in his hands for a few moments before he folds his hands under his chin, only partially looking at me. "You're not Corinne, and I know that. I never told her that I loved her, I never wanted to live with her, and I certainly didn't miss her a whole lot when she wasn't around. Being with you is nothing like it was being with her, even when she wasn't crazy."

I reach out and rest a hand gently on his leg. "Is this about running into her a couple of months ago?"

He shrugs helplessly. "I guess. I don't know. I think this stuff has been eating at me for a while now. I mean, I don't think you'll ever do to me and Katie what _she_ did but…what if I'm wrong? I don't think I am, but what if I'm wrong? I want so very much to be with you and I love you more than I can possibly say, and I'm scared shitless that it'll all go to hell at some point. I'm scared that I'll wake up one morning and you'll be a different person. I'm not strong enough to go through something like that again. I know it's irrational but after you go through that once…it stays with you. It's hard not to wonder if you'll wind up being just like her because I never saw that coming, so why would I see it if it happened with you? And everything with us is so amazing, and the thought of not having you in my life is complete agony."

"I don't know if I'm completely following you, Chandler."

"That's all right," he answers with a little laugh. "I'm not entirely following it, either. But…remember how you used to freak out at the beginning of our relationship about all the 'what ifs'? This is kind of like that. It's not rational or logical, and my flight instinct has been kicking into overdrive. I'm so happy to be living with you, but that asshole part of my brain keeps reminding me how huge it is and what if we don't last forever? What will that do to Katie? What'll it do to me?" He puts his hand over mine, gripping it tightly. "Please don't take that to mean I want to change anything. I want you with us, and I think Katie would actually pack a bag and leave me if you weren't there. It's just scary to hope, and it's hard to believe that anything could be this good and not have an expiration date."

I scoot a little closer to him, leaning against his arm. "You can talk to me about all of this, you know," I tell him quietly. "Any fears or doubts or questions you have, you can always come to me."

"Logically, I know that, but my stupid head wouldn't let me. I knew I was blowing everything out of proportion so I kept trying to hold it in. Somehow, I thought I could do it all on my own which I know is stupid. We're a team. We don't have to do _anything_ on our own. I guess Katie must have been feeding off of my mood yesterday, which is probably why she was so fussy, and I let myself get frustrated. It was easier to be mad about a crying baby than to own up to being scared about my own insecurities. So Katie got upset and then I got upset, and then you came home later than I expected, so it was _really_ easy to start taking everything out on you. And then, like magic, you got Katie to calm down, and I let myself get offended by that. Why couldn't _I_ be enough for my own daughter? Why is it you are the only one that has that touch with her? So, I got hostile. Not so hostile that I wanted to make Katie feel worse by not letting you hold her, but I put all those fears into verbally beating you up. It was a dick move."

I look down at Katie, still bundled against me as she sleeps. "I don't know what it is, Chandler—"

"You're her mother," he answers easily. "That's what it is. Most babies just need their mommies to make everything better and you do that. I _love_ that she has that in you, but yesterday it was easier for me to hold it against you than to appreciate it. I'm so sorry, Monica. I can't say that enough. I'm sorry that I hurt you and I'm sorry that I took it all out on you and treated you so badly. You didn't deserve that. I guess I thought that if I could hurt you first or make you leave, it wouldn't hurt as much. Somehow, it made sense to try to push you away."

"Chandler, remember when you told me that I could run and you'd always come after me? You said it didn't matter how far I ran or how hard I pushed, you'd always be there waiting. That goes both ways. It may not seem like it after last night, but I won't run off again. I promise I won't. If you want to be an asshole, that's fine, but I'm going to stick around until we can make it better. I promise."

"I'm so—"

"I forgive you," I whisper, cutting him off. "I'm sure we'll always find some way to hurt each other, but let's try to be honest from now on, okay? If something has you freaked out, please tell me. If it's about Corinne, you can tell me that, too. She's part of your past, and one way or another, without her we wouldn't have Katie."

"I don't deserve you. I love you so much."

I can't help but smile. "I love you, too. But…do you forgive me for leaving? I shouldn't have done that, either and—" Without warning, he moves his hand to the back of my neck and pulls me to him, kissing me fiercely. I shift Katie so that I can hold her tightly with one arm and hold onto Chandler with the other.

"If you need to hear it, then yes, I forgive you, but there's really nothing to forgive." I shake my head a little and he kisses me again for a moment. "You _are_ coming home, right?" he breathes against my lips. "Please tell me you're coming home."

"Of course I am. It's the only place I want to be." I sigh, pressing another kiss to his lips. "And I'm exhausted. I want to sleep in _our_ bed for a little while."

"Then let's go." He stands and takes my arm, helping me to my feet. "The place looks much better," he tells me as we walk. "Not sleeping gave me a lot of time to clean up the mess I'd made."

"Well, judging by the fact that most of the mess was made on the bottom part of everything, I'd say Katie did her fair share of creating chaos."

"Yeah, she was a little nosy," he confirms. "As you saw, she pulled everything off of every shelf she could reach so—"

"We need to move everything up, don't we?"

"Actually, I did most of that last night. I figured she'd just keep doing it over and over if I didn't. It doesn't look pretty, but at least it'll stop her from getting into everything for now."

"She'll just find something else to tear up. She's pretty resourceful," I tell him, and Katie's head pops up. She looks around blearily, her mouth opening in a wide yawn. "Hi, beautiful. We're going home to take a nap. Doesn't that sound fun?"

It takes her a few moments but finally she grins, little teeth pearly white. I'm pretty sure she knows the word "fun" and is always happy with the results.

"Mama bahbahbahbah eee bee bah," she tells me very seriously, reaching out to fiddle with the buttonholes on my coat.

"You need to learn some new words, Katie-did," Chandler says, reaching over to tickle her cheek.

She blows a little raspberry and scrunches away, her smile still bright. "Bah!"

"That's a good word," he tells her, his arm going around my shoulders, "but I still think you need some new ones."

"BAH!"

I lean forward and kiss her cheek. "She's happy to have her mommy back," he says, giving me a gentle squeeze.

"I'm happy to have my Katie back." I feel tears fill my eyes as our building appears before us. I let Chandler get the door and we walk up the stairs in silence, exhaustion suddenly almost overwhelming me. I can't wait to crawl into bed for a few hours and rest.

"Du," Katie says, turning toward Chandler. "Dada du!"

"Yes, baby, we'll get some juice. You think she knows she's kind of saying a sentence?"

"Maybe," I answer as he unlocks the door. "But 'Dada du' probably rolls off the tongue a lot easier than 'Mama du'."

"Mama du!"

"Or not." I step into our apartment and my body instantly relaxes. I'm home. All is right with the world.

"Du!"

"Yes ma'am," Chandler answers, grabbing one of her cups out of the dish drainer and filling it with milk. "Your moo juice, Katie-did."

She holds out her hands for it, eyes gleaming. "Du!"

Surprisingly, Chandler holds it back. "Can you say cup?" She blinks at him, confused by the having to work for it. "Cup."

I make sure the door is locked before I unbutton her coat, pulling it off around her outstretched arm. I pluck off her hat and she looks at me, baffled. "Say 'cup,' Katie," I tell her.

She looks back at Chandler, holding out both hands now. "Cuh!"

I laugh a little and shrug. "Close enough for me."

"Good girl, Katie," he tells her, giving her a kiss before relinquishing the cup. She tilts it up and starts gulping, ignoring us as we move to her room. "I can get her changed if you want to go to bed."

"No, I want to do it," I answer with a yawn, plopping her in her crib. "I missed it last night."

"Well, let me take your coat," he says, carefully tugging it off my arms before I hear him leave the room.

"Mama," Katie whimpers, holding an arm out to me, her other hand grasping the bars of her crib to keep herself steady.

"Don't worry, sweetie," I tell her, kissing her forehead. I pull clean pajamas out of her little dresser and pick her up again, calming her instantly. She ignores me as I pull her clothes off and change her diaper, instead focusing on her belly button. When I snap her jammies shut she tries to roll away but I grab her again, taking her and her sippy cup into the bedroom. "It's probably not healthy at all," I tell her as I sit her on the bed, "but you're going to nap in here with us." From the sound of it, she's feeling clingy right now, but I can't say as I'm any different. I want to keep her close. She looks terribly disinterested as I pull off my clothes, and I'm too tired to care that they land on the floor. I grab Chandler's t-shirt from the foot of the bed and pull it on as I crawl beneath the covers.

"Mama cuh?"

I smile at her, propping myself up a little. "No thank you, Katie. That's your cup. You're a good girl for sharing, though."

I guess she wasn't offering it to me because a moment later she drops it on the bed, reaching for me. I put it on the nightstand and pull Katie onto my chest, humming a little for her. She smacks her lips but doesn't waste any time settling against me.

"I'm your mommy," I whisper to her, trying out the words. They make my heart race a little, but it feels kind of right. "I'm your mommy." Scratch that—it feels very right.

I let my eyes fall shut, the comforting, familiar feel of my home lulling me. I feel the bed dip—it could be minutes later, it could be an hour later—and Chandler's arm slides over the two of us.

"I set the alarm," he says softly. "It'll get us up in a few hours if Katie doesn't do it first."

"Mmmm," I answer, wiggling a little to get closer to him.

"Are we okay?"

At that, I crack my eyes open, his concerned face millimeters from mine. I press a quick kiss to his lips before nuzzling his cheek with my nose. "We're okay. Go to sleep. I love you."

I feel his other arm slip under me, pulling us closer to him. "I love you, too."

* * *

*A/N…weak-ass resolution to this fight, huh? But, you know, people honestly tend to fight over the dumbest things, and it often seems like the smaller the spark, the bigger the blowout. Life, you know? Anyway, the baby reaching out and crying, "Mama!" after the fight with Monica (or the original intended) rushing to her was another one of those images that stuck with me over the years, so I'm glad I finally got to put it into play.

I've been crazy busy this past week, so I haven't even thought about writing anything—I barely remembered to post (I'm special), but hopefully this will brighten up your Monday morning (or afternoon, I suppose, depending on where you live).

Also, that out-pouring of love (both for me, at times, and this story) you guys gave me was intense and wonderful and wholly undeserved, but thank you. It meant a lot, and it's honestly really cool to know that you guys missed this hunk of junk. To all of you binge-readers…I feel you. I do that, too, and I'm not sure what's the bigger compliment—reviews after each chapter, or someone coming to the end of a story after spending eight or so hours devouring it and reviewing it then. I'm going to take the fact that you can't put it down as a really good sign. I've only had that happen with just a couple of books I've read over the years, and the fact that something I've written could be considered among those ranks for some of you…just wow. So thank you to all of you—the ones who can find something to say after each chapter, the ones who read it in one sitting, and every single last one of you in between. You're amazing.


	37. Chapter 37

_When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew._

* * *

With a sigh, I nestle myself into the corner of the couch, smiling contentedly as Katie reclines against my chest. It's still early and all the lights fascinate her. I press a kiss to the top of her head and give her a gentle squeeze. She tilts her head and grins up at me.

"Hi, sweetheart," I say softly, and she purses her lips, blowing a raspberry at me. "I love you, too."

Her little hand stretches up to my face, aiming for my nose, but I snatch it out of the way, gently nibbling at her fingers. She shrieks with laughter, trying to pull me toward her, and I feel like I could explode. "Mama cuh!"

I give her forehead a quick kiss before grabbing her sippy off the coffee table. "Do you want your _cup_ , Katie?"

"Cuh!"

I sigh, holding it up in front of her and just out of reach of her greedy little hands. "Katie, this is a cup. Say it with Mama. _Cup. Cup._ "

She scrunches up her nose and kicks her feet, looking at me dubiously. "Cuh."

I shake my head and give her another kiss. "Here's your juice, honey."

"Duce," she answers before shoving the cup in her mouth. She grins at me as she drinks, standing against my side, and I can't help but wonder at the things she must know. Probably more than we'd ever suspect. While "duce" isn't quite "juice," it's still progress, and we think she just can't figure out the letter "j" yet. She's picking things up, though, and can give us partial words when we ask her about something, or even if she just points to an object on her own. Chandler and I want her to learn everything, but I think we're in the same boat, too, in that learning to speak means she's growing up, and that thought is just awful.

It feels like she's been growing in leaps and bounds the last few weeks, and even though getting her to actually repeat the words we're telling her is a challenge, she responds to more and more every day. If we ask her to bring a book, she'll toddle over to one of her shelves and grab one out for us. If we ask her which animal is the kitty, she points to the right one. When we sing to her, she's starts almost "singing" along, her gibberish coming out nearly in tune. Her steps have become more self-assured as she tumbles over less. She's eating more and more types of food, always interested in whatever it is we put in front of her.

She's absolutely mesmerizing. It's not at all uncommon for Chandler to stumble out of bed in the middle of the night to find me in her room, standing awe-struck next to her crib. He never judges me, though; instead, he usually wraps an arm around my waist and we watch her together.

"Mama." I blink a couple of times, finding Katie smiling at me.

"What is it, honey?"

She leans forward and face-plants into my chest, her cup tumbling out of her hand. I feel her little feet shuffle for a few moments before she climbs onto my legs. "Hi," she says with a little sigh.

I wrap my arms around her, closing my eyes as I answer, "Hi." One of her few words. She's been able to say it since some point in November, but she doesn't use it as much as others. "Dada" and "Mama" usually get her what she wants. "Merry Christmas, Katie," I whisper.

She has no idea what this holiday is. Right now, all it is to her is shiny lights and brightly covered boxes. Even though I'm Jewish, I celebrate Christmas as well as Hanukkah. I always have. The entire holiday season is always fun for me, and I've never felt any need to limit myself to just one celebration or the other. Chandler seemed perfectly content to celebrate both, listening raptly as I told him about the Festival of Lights while simultaneously unwrapping my never ending supply of Christmas ornaments and decorations. He made a comment about wanting Katie to grow up in a multi-cultural home, but left it at that.

So, a few days ago, we wrapped up the eighth night of Hanukkah and went full tilt into Christmas. There wasn't a lot of time in between the two holidays, but I was more than up to the challenge. Most years, I don't really have anyone to cook or bake for—Rachel would often spend the holiday with her family, and even though Ross and I would often go visit our parents for at least a few of the days, I didn't always get to do the cooking. This year, though, I have my own little family to celebrate with.

I grin, cuddling Katie closer as I try to stave off the irrational tears that spring to eyes. I have a family. True, it's not technically official—Chandler and I are only living together with his toddler daughter who calls me Mama—but it's good enough for me. Just letting go and accepting Katie as mine has done me a world of good. The first couple of times I happened to say that she was "my daughter" were a little weird, mostly because I was so worried someone was going to jump up and point a finger at me, shouting to the world that it wasn't true. It almost felt creepy, as if I were some weird, pathetic lady who had to try to steal other people's kids and call them her own. Hearing Chandler call her "ours" nearly made my heart stop at first, too, but I like to think that I'm adapting nicely. Now, it feels almost normal. Now, when she's acting up and being a tiny butthead, Chandler shoves her at me in disgust and says, "Take your daughter" without either of us batting an eye.

It turns out that it's not terribly difficult to accept a child as your own. She's so teeny and innocent and perfect and I'm proud that people believe I could have made someone like that.

It's not surprising that I went a little crazy buying her gifts this year—it's my first Christmas as a mother, so I don't know that Chandler would have expected anything less. Any toy or book I came across that looked interesting, I bought. I bought way too many cute little outfits, hoping against hope that she'd get to wear a few of them before growing out of it all completely. I bought so much that Chandler actually made me take some of it back, reminding me that she has not only his own parents buying her gifts, but also her uncle Joey, uncle Mike and aunt Phoebe, not to mention that this year she also has a new set of grandparents in my own folks, plus Uncle Ross and Aunt Rachel. He said they all needed to be able to buy her things, too. Still, even after returning things, I've bought her way too much.

I've probably gotten too much stuff for Chandler, too, but he's made me so happy in the last eleven months that I can't help but try to repay him somehow. It almost seems silly to try to equate physical gifts with what he's given me, but I don't know how else to do it.

I mean, how does one find a way to balance out the score when he's given me the world? A year ago, I was single and lonely and, in hindsight, borderline depressed.

This year…I'm a mommy. It's the one thing I've always wanted and now I have it. More than even being married, I've wanted kids. Chandler gave that to me. There is quite literally nothing else I want from him because anything more would be greedy. It's enough that Katie looks at me and calls me "Mama" and means it. It's enough that I wake up next to Chandler every morning and go to sleep beside him every night, knowing that I'm home…knowing that I'm finally where I belong.

It took me long enough.

Katie pushes back from me and sits up; I immediately curl up my legs so she can lean against me safely. She is truly incredible, and I'm so lucky that I've been able to watch her grow up for the last few months. I've been able to see her first steps and hear her first word. I'm getting to watch her go from baby to little girl.

It's definitely more than I ever thought I would get in a year.

Katie watches me, breathing heavily as her little fingers pluck at her flannel Christmas pajamas. I break out into a smile and she gives one back to me, clapping her hands. "Ah bah bah bah!"

I laugh and carefully take her face in my hands, pulling her in to give her a kiss. "I love you, too." One of her hands grabs for my hair, tugging at it gently, and I keep her wrapped in my arms. "What do you think, Katie-did? Should we go wake Daddy?" I was far too excited about today to sleep for very long—I've probably been awake since four this morning. I tried to let Chandler's even breathing and his warm body wrapped around mine lull me back to sleep, but all I could do was lie there. Around five, I slipped out of his arms so I wouldn't wake him, instead choosing to putter around the apartment on my own for a while. When Katie finally stirred a little before six, I took her through her morning routine on my own, letting her nod off against my shoulder for a little while before she really woke up. It was nice just to have the company as I started getting everything ready for brunch in a few hours. I fed Katie before we finally settled on the couch, content just to be in each other's presence. It's been nice.

"Dada," she answers, her legs buckling as she bounces against me.

"Okay. We'll get Daddy out of bed," I answer, but she reaches over my shoulder.

"Dada!"

I turn and see Chandler standing in the doorway to our bedroom, his phone in front of him as he captures this moment. He grins at us, the smile nearly splitting his face. "Good morning, loves of my life. Merry Christmas!"

"Kee-bah," Katie answers, one of her hands grabbing at my pajama top as she stretches her fingers out to her father.

"Did she just say 'Christmas'?" Chandler asks as he walks over to us, tossing his phone on the coffee table.

"Sounds like it to me," I confirm, tugging at his arm as he bends down. "Good morning." Our lips meet for a few moments, and even though I know it's just because I'm excited about everything, I swear I can feel magic flitting between us. "Coffee's ready."

"Excellent. I knew I moved you in here for a reason." He kisses Katie's forehead, squatting down next to us when Katie wraps her arms around his neck so he can give her a big hug. "Merry Christmas, sweetie pie. Stay with Mama for a few minutes, okay? Dada will be right back." He gives her another kiss before settling her on me again. She watches him go but doesn't seem concerned with his momentary absence. I grab his phone off the table and pull up the gallery, seeing that he managed to take a bunch of pictures of me and Katie bonding on the couch. He's slick, that one.

Katie points at the phone, her sticky little fingers leaving marks on the screen. "Mama bah!"

"Good girl, honey. That's Mama," I answer, giving her a little squeeze.

"How long have you been up?" Chandler asks while yawning.

"You don't want to know," I answer as his sleepy face appears before me again. He puts his coffee mug down and I scoot forward a little so he can sit behind me, settling into the vee of his legs.

"When I woke up around five-thirty, you were gone, but I thought you were just checking on the baby. I guess you never came back to bed?"

"Couldn't," I answer, tilting my head to press a kiss to his chin.

"You're worse than a little kid, you know that?"

I shrug shamelessly. "At least I didn't wake Katie. I waited for her to get up on her own."

"Small favors," he answers as his arms wrap around my middle, encompassing Katie, too. With his chin on my shoulder he lets out a tired, happy sigh. "This is perfect," he mumbles

"Don't get too used to it," I answer quietly. "This place will be full up before you know it."

He kisses my cheek, nuzzling his nose against my face for a few moments. "We must be crazy."

"Possibly, but it'll be fun for Katie." Not surprisingly, when Katie was a few months old last Christmas, Chandler's parents and friends flocked to him to help him celebrate the holiday. Even less surprising was that they wanted to do it again this year. Then Ross and Rachel heard Joey and Phoebe talking about it, so they wanted to come. Not long after that, Ross told my parents about it, and seeing as how they have a new grandchild to spoil, they wanted to join us, too. Somehow, we're going to have to fit both of Chandler's parents, _my_ parents, Joey, Phoebe, Mike, Rachel, Ross, and my nephew Ben, not to mention the gifts they're all planning to bring, in this apartment in a few hours. We asked that they give us some time together before stampeding, requesting that they'll hold off until around eleven. They all agreed, though we knew that meant they'd be here by ten at the absolute latest.

Still, it gives us a couple of hours together, and it'll have to do.

Truthfully, though, the idea of having a big, family Christmas gathering thrills me.

It wasn't surprising that my mother immediately accepted the idea of me being Katie's mom—that's essentially what she's done since the moment I introduced them. My father wasn't a hard sell, either, seeing how enamored he was with Katie the night of their anniversary and he immediately started referring to her as his little peanut. Chandler's parents took a little more convincing, though. At least I'd already made a good deal of headway with Nora before all this came up. It's not unusual to find her looking at me speculatively, always waiting for the other shoe to drop, but I still don't blame her for that. She's been even more wary since we told her about running into Corinne a few months ago. Honestly, we've all been waiting for fallout from that, though nothing's happened yet. Still, it doesn't stop his parents from constantly wondering about me and my intentions. At least I have his—well, _our_ —friends on my side to verify that I'm nothing like that woman.

In spite of all that, though, we're all getting together for Christmas. It'll be the first time our parents have met each other, and we're hoping that the holiday spirit will make the entire experience happy and joyful.

Chandler grabs his phone out of Katie's hands, ignoring her squawk of indignation. I pull her up against my chest and assume the position, already knowing what he's after. He holds the phone out in front of us and I feel a smile spread across my lips. He kisses my cheek as he takes the picture, but captures a few more with the group of us, even Katie grinning goofily for the camera. She doesn't smile on command yet, but seeing us do it usually makes her smile. It's nice having a generally happy kid.

"Look, Katie," I say as I grab the phone from Chandler. "Which is your favorite?" I scroll through the pictures slowly, letting her take a good look at all of them. I don't really expect her to answer, but I like to give her a chance to think about it anyway.

"Bah!" she exclaims, one of her fingers landing on the screen again. She claps her hands merrily. "Bah!"

"What is it, Katie?" Chandler asks, tickling her side. "What's 'bah'?"

"Mamadadabah!" she crows, looking very pleased with herself.

"That's right, sweetheart," he says, looking at her proudly. "That's Mama, that's Dada, and that's the baby. That's you, Katie."

"Kay!"

"Closer," I answer, grabbing her sides and giving her a little wiggle. I turn my head so I can see Chandler's profile, pressing my forehead against his temple. "But I think her majesty has spoken. That's the picture she likes."

"Then that's the one that's Facebook-worthy," he answers, uploading it within moments. I watch as it shows up, three happy faces smiling back at me, and I'm suddenly overcome with emotion. Warm tears spill down my cheeks, and Chandler notices before I can wipe them away. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head, sniffling. "Nothing." I look at him, laughing a little at his dubious look. "Really; nothing. I'm just so happy." My breathing hitches and I pull Katie against my chest. "I'm so happy," I repeat softly.

Chandler's arms tighten around me. "Mama's silly, isn't she, Katie-did? Crying over being happy like that." He presses a kiss to the side of my head, his breath soft against my cheek. "It's a good thing we love Mama just the way she is."

I let out a watery laugh, kissing the top of Katie's head as I try to compose myself. "I'm all right. This is just the best Hanukkah and Christmas present I ever could have received."

"What's that?"

"Just sitting here with the two of you, the tree in front of us, our families on their way over. I know life isn't perfect, but this moment sure as hell is."

He's quiet for a few moments, holding me as I compose myself. Katie has his phone in her hands again, the corner of it occasionally in her mouth. "Well, if Mama's weepy now, Katie, wait until she sees all the stuff you got her."

"Oh, honey, you didn't. I told you that I didn't need anything and I meant it."

"Hey, don't look at me," he answers innocently, holding up his hands. "It was Katie. You know how crazy she gets when she goes shopping. She logs into Amazon and it's all over."

I look down at Katie, and she turns her head to me, phone still in her mouth. "Can you believe the nerve of Daddy, putting the blame on you?" She grins at me, drool dribbling down her chin and I sigh, shaking my head. "You know, you lose a lot of credibility when you do things like that." The phone drops out of her hands and she laughs, slapping at my legs. "Your daughter," I tell Chandler, my eyebrow quirked.

He shrugs casually. "Hate to break it to you, babe," he says, leaning in to kiss my cheek before unraveling himself from me to stand. "But she's your daughter, too. C'mere, Katie-did." Katie holds out her arms for him and he swings her through the air before they settle on the floor in front of the tree. "Let's find a present for Mama."

I dab at my face for a few moments before I slide down to the floor and join them. It seems silly to refuse.

* * *

*A/N…so, holy moly, guys—I've gotten a whole bunch of new followers lately, and that's bad ass. You people are amazing.

Isa—you didn't miss an anniversary. I keep meaning to go back and check and see where the reference is to them being together for a year, but I'll fix it at some point. Suffice it to say, I'm probably on crack and got my fake timeline wrong.

I also saw that you weren't expecting a resolution so quickly, and I can understand why. A lot of TV shows and fanfic writers draw out fights and misunderstandings for _ages_ , making people wondering when it'll all be resolved, but…that's just not my style. I mean, it's a valid method, and sometimes it works great, but some fall back on that trope time and time again, making our beloved characters be at odds and keeping us on the edge of our seats for days and weeks on end. I don't know—seems kinda cheap to me, and a way to say that they don't know how to do anything _but_ keep people unhappy, or how to write characters together.

But that's just me. At any rate, I don't like to drag out the drama. It's not exciting to me. Writing fighting for the sake of fighting…not interesting. Again, though, that's just me.

Anyway, I don't know if any of you guys have listened to/seen Hamilton, but there's this song called Non-Stop, and it has a couple of awesome lyrics that I can relate to: _How do you write like you're running out of time? Write day and night like you're running out of time. How do you write like tomorrow won't arrive? How do you write like you need it to survive? How do you write every second you're alive?_ I'm trying like hell to get back to that, or at least a part of it. I mean, I don't think I'll ever be at the 51 of the 85 Federalist Papers in six months level, but I need something. I need to finish this story. I just reread the last of it, and I'm not gonna lie—it's actually moving in places. I want you guys to be able to read it, but I want there to be a resolution, too. Keep your fingers crossed!


	38. Chapter 38

_I have seen the best of you, and the worst of you, and I choose both._

* * *

With a sigh of relief, I peel off my dirty, sweaty chef's jacket and toss it in the restaurant's laundry bin. It's been a hell of a long day—I got in at nine this morning and it's now after ten at night. My feet are killing me, my back is aching, and all I want to do is go home, make sure Katie is tucked in, then fall asleep against Chandler in a hot bubble bath. I'm sure I'll be unconscious before the new year ever hits.

I smile a little ruefully to myself, stretching my arms over my head. This is the first year in forever that I've actually had a boyfriend on New Year's Eve and I can't even be with him. Seems ironic, somehow.

I suppose, technically, I would get home in time for us to go out somewhere, but just barely. By the time I got there, showered, and got dressed up, it'd probably be after eleven, and we wouldn't make it anywhere before midnight. No—better to just go home and relax with the two of them. That's more fun, anyway.

I grab my water bottle off the counter and chug half of it down, breathing heavily afterward. I would much rather this was a gin and tonic, but that'll have to wait until I'm home, too.

God, it's been a long day. Nothing like a holiday to bring out the crazy in people.

I really ought to stop complaining. True, I've been at work for almost all of New Year's Eve, but in exchange I got to spend Christmas Eve and Day with Chandler and Katie. All things considered, I'd say it was well worth it.

That doesn't mean I don't miss the two of them like crazy and am not jealous that they've been able to spend the whole day together, probably with some or all of our friends.

"You all right over there, Monica?"

I blink a few times, looking up at the few others around me who have also managed to survive swing-shift hell and will also be on their way shortly. "Huh?"

"I thought you were ready to get out here hours ago," Billy, one of the waiters, says to me. "Why are you still here?"

I shrug, finishing what's left of my water bottle before tossing it toward the trash. "Trying to find the motivation to walk home," I answer tiredly. "You know there's no way I'll find a cab tonight."

"You mean Mr. Perfect isn't coming to pick you up?" Samantha, another one of the waiters, asks, waggling her eyebrows.

"Mr. Perfect is at home with the baby," I answer, digging my change of clothes out of my bag. "There's no way I'd let him drag her out at this time of night just so I don't have to take the subway on my own."

"Pity," she calls as I disappear into the tiny bathroom off the kitchen. "I could sure go for some eye candy right about now."

"Hey!" I hear Billy exclaim as I pull off my work pants and slip into my jeans. "What am I, chopped liver?"

"Something like that," Samantha answers as I tug my gross t-shirt over my head. I wrinkle my nose in disgust at my grimy clothes before folding them gingerly and tucking them into a grocery bag before putting them with the rest of my things. I pull on my sweater—a pale blue one that Chandler got me for Christmas that he says matches my eyes, and happens to cling to my boobs perfectly—running my fingers over the soft material for a moment. I need to get myself in gear. I really do have Mr. Perfect waiting for me at home and I'm letting myself space out at work.

I get a couple of playful catcalls as I walk out of the bathroom in my form-fitting shirt, but I just bow gratefully. Considering I feel like I've been hit by a truck, I'll take compliments where I can get them. I listen to the others chatter as I gather up the dinner I made for me and Chandler, trying to force myself to get my act together—if I don't, I'm liable to stick around and help out when I let myself see how busy the place still is.

"Monica? Is Monica still here?"

I stand on tiptoes, trying to see who's calling my name. "I'm here. What's up?"

Casey, one of the hostesses, sighs with relief. "Oh, good. One of the private parties wants to talk to you."

I cringe, taking a couple of unconscious steps away. "About what? I'm already off the clock."

She shrugs, spreading her hands helplessly. "Don't know. I think they wanted to compliment your cooking."

I feel myself standing up a little straighter, pride at a job well done making me feel cocky. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. They seemed pretty happy, so I told them I'd check if you were still here. Party Room C." With that, she hustles out of the kitchen to get back to whatever is waiting for her at the door.

"Well, well, well," Billy says teasingly. "Look at Chef Monica, getting called out on her cooking on New Year's Eve of all nights."

I grin at him, not saying anything. Super busy holidays are notorious for ending up with gross food. Between the increased volume, a "special" menu, and the number of people with ridiculously high expectations of what the staff within a restaurant should be capable of, food and service often fall short of the high bar. Having a group of customers—a _party_ , no less—want to compliment my food tonight is just the ego boost I need.

"Well, get out there," Samantha tells me, giving my shoulder a shove. "Even happy customers don't like to be kept waiting."

"Yeah, yeah." I tug my hair out of my ponytail as I push my way out of the swinging doors, my eyes growing wide when I see the sheer number of people crammed into the restaurant. It's easy to not think about it when you're in the kitchen—you just cook the food and hope for the best. These poor waiters, though…I know a few called out "sick" at the start of their shifts, content to let the other dedicated souls bear the brunt of the burden on one of the busiest nights of the year, but how they're even handling this right now is a mystery to me.

I move quickly around the edge, dodging chairs and drunk diners as I go. All of the party rooms are closed off, filled to the brim with revelers. I approach Party Room C, hesitating at the door; I hate to barge in on people, even if they're expecting me. I knock on the door and wait, but hear nothing. I press my ear to the door, but with all the noise going on behind me, it's impossible to tell if anyone inside has said anything. I knock again, giving it a few more moments before I carefully pull open the doors.

Balloons spill out at me, the ones filled with helium bouncing along the ceiling, the others falling about at my feet. I laugh and kick at a few of them—whoever is in this room tonight definitely went all out.

"Hello?" I call, pushing aside some of the balloons as I make my way into the room, but my voice is muffled by the endless amounts of latex surrounding me. I giggle to myself, childishly, at the stupid "rubbers" comments running through my head while simultaneously blaming my boyfriend for the fact that I've mentally become a teenage boy while dating him. "Hello," I call again, still not getting an answer.

I turn in a slow circle, looking at the room. They did it up nice, though. Aside from the balloons floating placidly on the ceiling, crepe paper hangs delicately on the walls, streamers look like they've been tossed onto every surface, and confetti in the shape of stars and champagne flutes is scattered about. Definitely festive, but no one is here. The tables have been pushed out of the way, neatly lining the walls, and I feel a little disappointed. I didn't think it had taken me that long to get out here, but maybe they were in a rush to get to their next stop.

Something catches my eye, my heart stopping when I see a baby carrier in the corner. Did someone actually manage to leave behind their child? I force myself to take deep breaths—maybe they just left the carrier. Maybe the kid was tuckered out against someone's shoulder and they simply forgot the carrier. I make my way over to it, peeking in cautiously.

My heart stops again. "Katie? What are you doing here?" Naturally, she doesn't answer. It's way past her bedtime and she's down for the count, her limbs looking long and spindly as she's sprawled in her little seat.

I hear a little movement behind me, the sounds from the main dining area becoming more muffled, and I turn. I feel myself light up when I see Chandler, smiling at me sheepishly. "You made it!" I exclaim, rushing over to throw my arms around him. "I wasn't expecting to see you until I got home."

He hugs me tight, pulling me off the ground just a little for a few moments. "We missed you. We've gone all day without you and couldn't wait a second longer."

I laugh a little, pulling back and taking his face in my hands. "You're so sweet. You didn't have to—"

He cuts me off with a kiss, smiling against my lips. "I know I didn't have to," he whispers, pressing his forehead to mine. "I wanted to. Katie didn't mind being dragged out, either. I don't think she's even cracked an eye since I pulled her out of her crib."

"Thank you," I whisper back, giving him another kiss. "I'm glad you're here." I kiss him again before slowly untangling my arms. "We should get out of here, though—this _was_ someone's private room and I don't know if they're still here or not. I don't think they'd get a kick out of seeing their chef necking with her boyfriend."

"All right," he answers, moving his hands to my hips. "Why are you in here, by the way?"

"Oh—I was told that someone actually wanted to compliment the chef. You think I could resist something like that?"

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Definitely not. Did they have nice things to say?"

I shrug, glancing over my shoulder at Katie, who's still oblivious. "No idea. I got here and there was nothing but balloons. I guess they didn't want to compliment me _too_ badly."

He smiles at me, tucking my hair behind my ear. "I love you."

I blink in surprise, but my grin nearly answers for me. "I love you, too." He presses his lips to mine again, and I finally push gently at his shoulders. "Save it for later, hot stuff. Let's go home."

He nods and lets go of my hips, moving toward Katie. I carefully put my bag on the floor and pull at my coat, trying to unwrap it from everything else. "Oh, wait," he says. "Just one more thing before we go."

I tug at my coat a couple more times, not getting anywhere. "Oh, yeah? What's that?" I turn around and gasp. On one knee in the middle of the room, Chandler looks up at me nervously.

"I really love you," he says, his voice cracking. He takes a moment to clear his throat and I feel my eyes fill with tears. "You are absolutely everything to me. You've made me and Katie happier than I ever thought possible. You—" His voice catches and he looks away, shaking his head.

I cover my mouth with my hand, tears cutting warm tracks down my face. My heart feels like it's going to pound out of my chest. Is this really happening? I try to speak, but nothing comes out.

Chandler looks up at me and shrugs helplessly, his own eyes shiny as he tries to get himself together. He pats at his pockets, frantic for a few moments and I can't help but laugh. He grins, a little box appearing in his hands, and I double over. My knees shake and I drop to the floor in front of him, actually weeping.

This is really happening. I cover my face, trying to muffle my sobs. I feel him take one of my hands, pulling it to him. "You're in my heart, Monica," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "No—you _are_ my heart. I will love you until the day I die." I watch his throat bob as he swallows, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I'm shocked to realize that he's nervous. How on earth can he be nervous? Does he really think I'd say "no"?

"Honey," I choke out, hoping to reassure him, but nothing else comes out. Instead, I squeeze his fingers, hoping to let him know that I'm with him, that I'll always be with him.

His fingers squeeze mine in return and he smiles at me. "Will you marry me?" he asks softly, his voice full of hope.

My cheeks hurt, and I realize it's from smiling so hard. "Yes."

His eyes close for just a moment as his entire body sags in relief. "Really?"

I keep our fingers locked together and reach out to cup his face with my other hand. "Yes."

He throws his arms around me suddenly, nearly bending me over backward in his excitement. I laugh as our lips meet, shock settling over me. Oh, my God. This is happening.

"We're engaged?" I ask suddenly, blinking at him in surprise.

He grins at me, and I swear his entire being is glowing. "Yeah. I think so. But I guess it's not official until I do this."

I feel my forehead furrow in confusion as he pulls back, realization dawning an instant later as he cracks open the forgotten box. I feel everything inside of me get twisted up again as I realize it's a ring— _my_ ring. My engagement ring. He carefully takes my left hand, the cool band sliding over my ring finger a moment later. I barely take a moment to look at it before my head falls against his shoulder, tears falling endlessly from my eyes.

"Say it again," he requests, his fingers running through my hair.

I sniffle a little, lifting my head. "I'll marry you." I barely have the words out before he's kissing me for all he's worth, arms wrapped tightly around me.

"Are you sure?" he finally asks. "I mean, I know it hasn't even been a year—"

"Chandler, I've known that I want to spend the rest of my life with you for almost as long as we've been together." He grins, pulling me in for another kiss. When I finally give in to my lungs and breathe, I look around the room in wonder. "This was you?" I ask, finally starting to put the pieces together. "This wasn't a private party, was it? The balloons, all of it…"

"It's for you," he answers simply. "Everything is for you. Everything will _always_ be for you."

I swallow heavily, smiling shakily. "But...but how? These private rooms are booked way in advance. How'd you manage to do this?"

He grins, his fingers sliding through my belt loops as he holds me. "That…was a stroke of luck, really. And I have to confess, I enlisted the help of some of your coworkers, too."

My eyes open wide, my mouth dropping in surprise. "I know I keep asking this, but how?"

He leans forward, pressing a brief kiss to my lips. "You probably didn't even realize it, but I've been pumping you for information for weeks now. Obviously, I've known for a long time that I want to marry you, but I couldn't figure out when to ask. I thought about doing it at Christmas, but that seemed a little clichéd."

"But New Year's Eve _isn't_ clichéd?" I tease.

He takes it all in stride. "It is, but I figured, the hell with it. You'd never see it coming like this. You didn't, right?"

"I had no idea," I assure him. "I'm completely stunned."

"Good. Anyway, when you told me forever ago that you'd have to work tonight in exchange for getting Christmas off, I started asking questions. I asked you if some of your favorite waiters would be with you tonight—to make the night more bearable, obviously." Try as I might, I can't remember him asking me that. It must have been such a normal, boring moment that I never gave it a second thought. "When you told me who'd be here tonight, I started making calls and planning maneuvers. At first, because there weren't any private rooms available, I was just going to wait outside the kitchen door, but Samantha called me at work one day to let me know about the cancelation in here, so I took it."

"You mean, there hasn't been a party in here all night?"

"Oh, no, there was a party here earlier, but they made the reservation after me, so Casey gave them strict instructions to be out of here by eight-thirty."

I chuckle a little, tears still filling my eyes at regular intervals. "I didn't know they could do that."

He shrugs, smiling at me proudly. "They probably shouldn't, but she didn't give anyone the option. Telling you that someone wanted to compliment the chef was their idea, though, because they knew it'd be the one thing that would get you to stick around for a few more minutes."

"I'm pretty transparent about getting compliments," I agree shamelessly.

"As much as it sucked with you being at work all day, it gave me and Katie a chance to get everything ready. The balloons were her idea."

"Naturally," I answer, glancing at her carrier. She's still fast asleep, drool dribbling down her chin.

"I wanted to make it special," he whispers, and I turn back to him. He looks so nervous, so earnest, that I just want to take him in my arms and comfort him.

"You succeeded," I tell him softly. "I never imagined anything like this would happen to me. You know you could have asked me—"

"I know, I know," he says, cutting me off. "I could have asked you anywhere and it would have been special, blah blah blah. You don't need me to go out of my way, you've told me before. But Monica…you deserve it. Do you understand that? You deserve all of this and more. You deserve to be swept off your feet and the ridiculous, over-the-top romantic gestures. You deserve the world, and I will spend my entire life trying to give it to you."

My breathing hitches in my throat, and I swallow several times to push back my tears. "You've already given me the world. Everything I've ever wanted and hoped for…it's all wrapped up in you and Katie. That's why I don't need anything else. I already have everything."

He pulls me into his arms and buries his face in my neck, and for a while we both cry. I shouldn't be surprised at his reaction, but I love that he's just as moved by this moment as I am, that this is just as big a deal for him as it is for me. He _wants_ to marry me. It's not something he thinks he's supposed to do or something that I've been pressuring him for—he _wants_ it. He did all this just to ask me a simple question.

"I love you," I choke out. "I love you so much."

He pulls his head out of my neck, one of his hands cupping my cheek. "I can't wait to be your husband."

I laugh and sob at the same time, pulling him back into my arms. I want to say more, but I just can't. My body isn't cooperating. All I can do is hold Chandler…my fiancé.

Oh, my God, I'm getting married. I get to have a wedding and a dress and all of it, and I get to be Chandler's _wife_.

"Time for a 'we just got engaged' selfie?" He whispers to me, making me laugh again.

"Definitely," I answer with a nod. "It's definitely time for that."

I feel him pull his phone out of his pocket and I wipe at my cheeks, trying to compose myself just a little. I lean my head against his, grasping at his shirt to keep him close. His hand slides around my waist as he holds out the phone. I sniffle as he starts taking pictures, smiling even though I know I look like a complete mess.

"And one of these," he whispers, angling his face toward mine. Happily, I lean up to kiss him, completely aware that we've made this clichéd moment even more of a cliché, and I don't care one bit.

When we come up for air, he immediately scrolls through the pictures, smiling as he goes. "These are good," I tell him softly.

"We even managed to get your ring in them." He tilts his head back, looking at me curiously. "Have you even checked it out? I want to know if I found the right one."

"It's perfect," I answer, still without really looking. "If you picked it out and you thought it was right, then it's perfect."

"I'd still feel better if you looked at it."

I shrug a little and lift my hand—I can't see it clearly for very long because I start to cry again. "Chandler, it really _is_ perfect. Oh, my _God_ , it's gorgeous." I sink down to my haunches, staring at it. It really is the most amazing engagement ring I ever could have imagined. It couldn't be more right if I'd designed it myself.

It's absolutely insane how well he knows me.

"I do have something else for you," he whispers, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

"Oh, honey, you've done more than enough."

"Eh. What's one more thing?"

"Chandler—"

Before I can get the words out, the doors to the room fly open, and my mouth drops open in shock as everyone I know tumbles in; Ross, Rachel, Joey, Phoebe, Mike, most of the staff of the restaurant, some of the people from Chandler's job, and, I can't even believe it, my parents. I look at Chandler in wonder, but he just shrugs. When I look back to all the people who've gathered for this, they're all wearing the same expectant look. My brand new fiancé nudges me and I let out a laugh, holding up my hand. "We're engaged!"

Noise assails my ears as people tug at my arms and pull me to my feet, gathering me and Chandler in for a mass hug. We're completely engulfed in love, everyone congratulating us at once. I'm vaguely aware of one of the waiters trying to explain the commotion to the probably very curious customers, but not much is registering right now.

"I can't believe you're all here," I say, though I don't know how much of it anyone hears. "Did you all know about this?"

That finally gets attention. "Only for a couple of hours," Rachel answers, grabbing one of my hands to give it a squeeze.

"He got us all to come over this afternoon," Phoebe says, her eyes shiny with tears, "and told us then. We thought we were just going to start celebrating early—"

"But then he told us that he was planning to propose tonight," Ross adds in, looking genuinely and truly happy for the two of us. "He had it all planned out and everything."

"So he got us all to help," Joey exclaims, grinning from ear to ear. "And there's still helium left at the apartment!"

I burst out laughing—Joey _would_ be excited by leftover helium. "Thank you so much. All of you." I lift my eyes to my coworkers who not only helped to orchestrate this, but managed to keep it quiet for so long.

"I can't believe you didn't catch on," Billy says. "I was damn near _bursting_ all night long. I thought one of us was going to spill the beans for sure."

I laugh and wipe my cheeks again before sliding my arms around Chandler's waist. "I honestly had no idea. I don't think I could have been more surprised."

"I can't believe your mother and I have been sitting on this for as long as we have." I look up, trying to find my father, my eyes landing on him and my mom in the corner, Katie blinking at us grumpily from my mother's arms.

"What do you mean, Dad?"

"Chandler asked us ages ago for permission to marry you," he answers, beaming at me for a moment before turning his attention back to Katie.

I blink up at Chandler, shocked. "You asked my parents for my hand in marriage?"

He shrugs sheepishly. "I know it's really old-fashioned, but I really just wanted to make sure they approved of me. You're their only daughter. I figured if they had any major objections to me marrying you, I needed to reevaluate my life."

"I can't believe it," I say softly. "Everything you did…"

"It's for you," he tells me again. "Because I love you and because you deserve it and I wanted to make tonight magical."

I stand on tiptoe and wrap my arms around his shoulders, pressing my lips to his. Our friends erupt in good-natured hooting and catcalling even as they wrap their arms around us in a giant hug.

"What about your parents?" I ask suddenly, pulling back from him.

"I love it when you talk about my parents when we're making out," he teases. "Can we talk about my grandparents, too?"

I pinch his side, making him laugh even as he winces. "Everyone else is here. What about your mom and dad?"

"Dad had to work—he couldn't get out of it, but he expects lots of pictures. And Mom…" his voice trails off and he gestures his head toward Joey, who holds up a cellphone with a grin. Chandler reaches out and grabs the phone, holding it between our ears. "Hi. Mom."

"About time," she grumbles playfully. "Congratulations, you two!"

"Thank you, Mrs.—Nora. I hate that you couldn't be here."

"Well, I get to spend the New Year in Paris, so it's not all that bad."

I chuckle at that. "No, I suppose not."

"I'm happy for you both, and I promise I'll take you out for a celebratory dinner as soon as I'm back in the country."

"Thank you, Mom. We love you. I know it's the middle of the night over there, though, so go back to…whatever it is you were doing."

She laughs at that, though I imagine she was probably in the middle of writing something. "Goodnight, you two. And congratulations again. I'm so happy for you both. Love you." A moment later, the line goes dead and Chandler hands the phone back to Joey.

"I think somebody needs you," Rachel says, gesturing over my shoulder. Chandler and I turn as one and see my mother heading toward us with a fussy Katie.

"Oh, honey," I laugh as I hold out my arms for her. "Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry. We didn't forget about you, I promise." I pull her against my chest and even though she whines and snuffles, she relaxes against me. "I know—it's really late for you. I'm sorry we woke you up." She doesn't have any sort of response, so I suspect that she's probably on her way back to dreamland. "You think she's excited that Mommy and Daddy are getting married?"

"Do you think she has any idea that we _aren't_ married?" he retorts. "As long as she has your boobs to sleep on, she really doesn't care one way or another."

I'd like to argue that, but since they have been her pillow of choice for a long time now, it'd be hard for me to prove my case.

"Champagne?" I look up to see Billy smiling at me playfully—he and Samantha have made the rounds with a couple of trays covered in champagne flutes. They really are good sports to be doing this when they have their own paying customers to worry about.

Chandler and I each take a glass, smiling at each other dreamily. Everything about this has been better than any fantasy I ever could have come up with. This guy is more than I deserve.

"To my little sister," Ross says, surprising me. "And to her husband-to-be. I know I'm not alone when I tell you just how happy we all are for you." He pauses, clearing his throat, and I feel tears well in my eyes. I can't believe my meanie, grouchy big brother is getting emotional because I'm engaged. "Uhh…congratulations."

Everyone pauses, waiting to see if that's what we're supposed to toast to, but Phoebe saves the day. She lifts her glass in the air, grinning at us like the Cheshire Cat. "To the journey."

The group nods along, lifting their own glasses up high. "To the journey."

I tilt my head up to Chandler, finding him already smiling down at me. "To the journey?" I ask softly, and he tightens his arm around me.

"Oh, yeah. I can't wait for the rest of my life."

* * *

 _I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes, and I love that you're the last person that I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible._

* * *

A/N…I really wanted to use that second quote at the beginning, but I thought it might give away too much. It's from _When Harry Met Sally…_ , one of the greatest movies of all time. I'm sure most of you knew that, but if you haven't seen it, or haven't seen it for a while, go watch it again.

I keep losing track of how much time has been elapsing between updates—sorry about that. I have a new job (YAY!), and I really like it, but it's been taking up a lot of my time. As a result, I haven't written anything in forEVER. I need to stop being such a slacker, huh?

Anyway, I hope you guys liked this one. Interesting proposals are hard to write, and I hope this surprised at least one or two of you. And thank you all so much for sticking with me through this! You're the best!


	39. Chapter 39

_One word  
Frees us of all the weight and pain of life.  
That word is love._

* * *

This bathtub is barely big enough to seat one person comfortably, but that doesn't stop me and Chandler from squeezing in together anyway. It probably makes us gluttons for punishment or far too optimistic, but I really prefer to think of us as desperately in love and eager to be near each other at all times.

We're way too goopy for most people's tastes, but it makes us happy.

Besides, when is being pressed against your naked fiancé while ensconced in hot water and bubbles _not_ a good idea?

It's not like we don't need the time together; despite the fact that we cohabitate and actually see each other every night, we've reached a nearly zombie-like state of being in our everyday lives.

Wedding planning is no joke.

When you consider that we're only two months in and we don't even have a date nailed down yet, it's fairly amazing how exhausted we are. I'm so excited to be getting married, but part of me already can't wait for it to be over. Then we can just go back to our lives. I've mentioned that to Chandler—more than once—and we've then discussed the idea of just eloping and being done with it, but when it comes down to it…I can't get over the idea of a wedding. I want the ceremony and the excitement and everything that goes along with it. So, we're dealing with being exhausted.

I shift a little, cringing as my bare body squeaks against the bottom of the tub. "When we start house hunting, one of my requirements is a gigantic old tub."

"Fair enough," he answers, shifting a little in the opposite direction. "When _do_ you want to start house hunting?"

I let out a groan, closing my eyes as my head falls back against his shoulder. "I don't even want to _think_ about moving until well after we're married. It's too much."

"No, I understand, and I hate to be the one to point this out, but that means we'll be here for another year. The lease is up in May." I let out an involuntary whimper and he squeezes his arms around me. "Maybe we can get a six-month lease."

I let out a breath, my eyes opening so I can stare blankly at the wall across from us. "Just one more thing to add to the list."

"Well, it's not so bad here. A little cramped, but not bad."

"It's not that; I just hate the idea of being locked in for an entire year because I don't have the stamina to look for a new place _and_ deal with our wedding."

"We could hold off—"

"We're not waiting to get married," I tell him firmly. "I'm just grumpy, so ignore me."

He presses a kiss to my temple, resting his lips there as he sighs. "I love you, Grumpy Girl."

And this is one of the five billion reasons I'm marrying this guy. I get cranky and irritable, he just tells me that he loves me. It's a small thing, but it means the world to me. I turn my head, my lips finding his, and we lazily explore each other's mouths, taking our time. Exhausted or not, we're still making time for each other, getting in a round or two of sex at least every other day. I'm sure some people would wonder how we find the strength, if we happened to discuss our sex lives with the general public, but it never feels like an obligation or hardship. Hell, half the time, sex feels like the reward for all the planning and research and dealing with all the other humdrum aspects of our life. It relaxes us when it all starts to feel like too much, or it helps to wear us out enough so that we're not so tired that we can't sleep, or sometimes it just gives us that boost in the morning before work. The way I figure it, I've waited my whole life to be this compatible with someone—I'm sure not going to squander it _now_.

"I love you, too," I finally answer, finally finding a comfortable spot. My back molds against his stomach and I sigh with relief.

"It's really quiet," he whispers as I feel his body relax a bit, the heat, contact, and bubbles finally working their magic on both of us.

I giggle a little. "Well, yeah, if you're gonna whisper like that."

"It's weird not having Katie here."

That part is true. That little girl can make an awful lot of noise during her waking hours, but I never think about the gentle background noises of a kid until she's not here. There haven't been many times that we've spent the night without Katie, but they're definitely always weird, at least at the beginning of the evening. It's strange to not check on her every hour or so, or deal with her middle of the night crying jags, or when she decides at three in the morning that she's not going back to sleep and to hell with everyone else.

But according to everyone—books, magazines, other parents, _my_ parents, Chandler's parents, and even Ross—it's important to spend time without the kid. I can see that. It _is_ therapeutic, and when you can push aside the guilt of not being there for her and the sadness of her absence and the anxiety of something happening to her, it's kind of nice. I wouldn't want it every night, but these rare occasions are fine by me.

"Do you think she's having fun?" he asks, sounding wistful, so I give his arms a squeeze.

"With Aunt Phoebe and Uncle Mike? She's having a blast. You know how much she loves it when Mike plays the piano for her."

"Yeah, that's true."

"Phoebe texted me a while ago; told me that Katie only cried for about ten minutes after we dropped her off."

"Oh, so Katie's holding up better than you," he teases, letting out an "oof" as I elbow his ribs.

"Yeah, like you're not choking back tears every time you leave her." The wave of emotions that hit me the few times we've left Katie with someone have been startling, even more so the first time it happened. I wasn't expecting to actually collapse into a puddle of tears. I scared the hell out of Chandler, too. It's not so bad when it's daycare, though that's probably because Chandler's just upstairs if anything happens, and when we first started taking her there, I wasn't technically being acknowledged as Katie's mother so I probably didn't let myself get worked up over it. But the first time we brought her to Phoebe and Mike's, I was almost inconsolable. We nearly had to pick her up because I was crying so hard. It was ridiculous.

"It was nice of them to take her for the night," he says softly, kissing my temple.

"It's good practice for when they have their own," I answer, my eyes drifting shut. According to Phoebe, they're still not actively trying. They're sticking to the "let's wait a year" plan, and it seems to be working for them.

"So…" he says slowly. "Should we talk about wedding stuff?"

I let out a sigh and feel myself pout a little. I shouldn't be this despondent about my own wedding. "I guess."

"Mon…you _do_ want to get married, don't you?"

My head snaps around so quickly I nearly smack my face on his chin. "Oh, my God, of course I do. I know this is coming out all wrong, but I _do_ want to marry you. I'm just irritated because we can't figure out _when_ to do it, and figuring that part out will help us do everything else."

"Okay, so let's set a date."

"But we can't do _that_ until we figure out _where_ we want to get married. We've been to dozens of places already and none of them have felt like us." I wish I was exaggerating that part—in two months, we've been to over thirty different venues trying to find something that appeals to us. We've tried everything; ballrooms, event halls, hotels, museums, even churches, and nothing has felt like somewhere I'd want to get married. Maybe I'm being too picky about it, but since I only plan on doing this once, I want to do it right. I don't want to get married somewhere just because I needed to find a location.

"I know. It's a bitch." I chuckle a little, giving his neck a quick kiss. He's being a good sport about all of this, agreeing and disagreeing with me readily, even when I feel like I'm vetoing a place unfairly. He won't tell me if he's just humoring me or not, but I appreciate the solidarity. "Maybe we should start looking into things that are unconventional."

I feel my eyebrow quirk up. "Unconventional how? Because I'm not getting married in the middle of a circus."

He laughs, his entire body shaking and sending water splashing everywhere. "Oh, yeah, that's definitely what I'm suggesting. I can see you walking down the aisle while elephants do handstands behind you. No, I just mean we need to start thinking outside the box. We need to Google different types of weddings and see what we can find. I think getting married at vineyards is a big thing now."

I pause, thinking about that for a while. "You know, that's not bad. I don't know if I want to necessarily do a vineyard because that is really ridiculously popular these days, but I like where you're going with this."

"Well, what about maybe something out in the country? Like on a farm or an orchard?"

"A _farm_?" I ask incredulously. "What does a _farm_ have to do with _us_? Can you see me being able to handle being in a wedding dress while around pig manure?"

"Yeah, never mind about the farm thing. Definitely a bad idea." His arms tighten around me and I feel him rest his chin on my shoulder. "God, maybe we should just have a destination wedding. Go somewhere exotic, invite the people we _really_ care about and be done with it. Hawaii's nice all year round, I hear."

I laugh for a few moments before I stop, my entire body tensing. "Wait a second…"

"What?" he asks, sounding shocked. "Did I get it right? Are we going to get married in Hawaii?"

"Maybe not quite so exotic—I think it's well beyond our budget—but how would you feel about getting married on a beach?"

"I think I could be okay with that. Actually, I think that's kind of a great idea. Oh—but, wait. Can't it be tough to get permission to do that? I mean, beaches are public and it's hard to tell people they can't wander around, right?"

"I don't know about all that, but Chandler…my parents have a beach house."

He pulls away from me a little and twists sideways, looking at me. "They do? Since when?"

"Since forever. They bought it years ago. It's in a little gated community, so the beaches aren't actually public. I'm sure as long as we check with their neighbors, it'll be fine."

"If you'll allow me a sidebar for just a second, how have we been together for more than a year and I'm just now hearing about a beach house? Weren't we together during beach weather?"

"I just never think about it, honey. My parents rent it out for most of the summer, anyway, so it's not like it's usually around for any of us to use." I look at him over my shoulder and grin. "We'll spend some time there this year, I promise. I'll tell them we want to take Katie to the beach, I'm sure they'll let us have a week or so."

"Where the heck is it?"

"It's just in Connecticut. It'll take a couple of hours to get there, but it wouldn't be any different than asking people to travel upstate or wherever."

"Do you think they'd let us have a wedding there?"

"You'd really be okay with getting married on the beach?"

"Sounds pretty damn romantic to me," he answers, pulling me against his chest again. "I like it."

"You haven't even seen it."

"It's a beach, Monica. In a gated community. I would suspect that someone is paid good money to keep it clean. We wouldn't even have to find a date that works for the venue—it could be whenever we want."

"I like the sound of that," I agree, feeling giddiness starting to spread through me. Could we actually be making headway? Do we actually know _where_ we're going to get married. I sit up and lean out of the tub, reaching for my phone that's on the counter next to the sink. Chandler's fingers playfully dancing up the backs of my legs, but I do my best to ignore him. I pull up my pictures as I sit back down, eventually finding their beach house. "Here—see? Nice, isn't it? I mean, it's not super fancy, but I think it could work for us."

He takes the phone from my hand and scrolls through slowly, nodding along. I don't have many pictures of the house—I've never seen much need to take pictures of it, truthfully, and it's been a few years since I even bothered to go out there. "Hey, what's that?"

"What?" I ask, craning my neck. "Oh, that? Those are just the stairs leading down to the beach. All the houses have them."

"So, that would be our aisle." I feel a smile tug at my lips. "That'd be where I get to watch you walk toward me in your last few moments as a single woman?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"I'm in," he says, handing the phone back to me.

"Really?"

"Really. Let's do it. Whenever. Just tell me the date and we'll do it."

I twist sideways as best as I can, studying his face. He's serious. He likes the house and he's willing to do it whenever I want. "May," I whisper.

"What?"

"Let's get married in May."

" _This_ May? The May that's just a couple of months away?"

"Yeah. You said just to tell you when, so…Is that not okay, though?"

"No, it's fine. The date really doesn't matter to me so long as we're both there and it's legally binding. I just didn't know if it would be enough time."

I shrug, leaning forward to kiss him. "Probably not, but I want to do it anyway. We can wait until late May, though, to give ourselves a few extra weeks."

"Won't it be tough to get all the caterers and junk, though?"

"You act like I'm not in the food industry," I tease. "Besides, I've been looking into all of this for a while now. Rates for everything wedding related go up in the summer, though more specifically from Memorial Day until Labor Day. However, most companies have tons of openings outside of those three months, and sometimes offer even better prices for filling in those gaps. If we know what date, though, I can start haggling with people now and it won't be any problem."

"Only if you're sure," he answers. "I don't want you to get stressed out with everything, though."

"I'm sure," I whisper, leaning my head against his chin. "I want to get married in May."

"What's the rush?" he teases, tightening his arms around me. "You knocked up?"

"No," I answer with a giggle. "But, gee whiz, honey, that's romantic. We do, however, have a narrow window of decent weather for a beach wedding, and probably an even narrower amount of time when the houses there won't be rented out. I know that if we get married in May it could still be cold at the end of the month, but I'd rather be a little chilly for a few minutes than get married in September or October and have to deal with a hurricane."

"Ooh. That's a good point. You don't think the neighbors would mind?"

"I doubt it. We'll invite them—I don't mind having people we only sort of know there if it's for a good cause. And, you know, we can always offer to open up their houses for them. Clean them out, get them ready for the summer, if they don't have anyone staying there, I mean. And maybe if they don't have their houses booked, if we ask _really_ nicely, they'll let us use the houses for guests. Well, we'd probably have to pay them, but considering we're saving a ton of money by not renting somewhere out for the day, we should be able to swing it."

"So, we're getting married in May," he says, smiling at me slowly. "You're sure?"

"Yeah. Either Memorial Day weekend or the weekend before. I'll get quotes for both of those dates and see if the difference is huge, and we'll go from there. And I'll call my parents tomorrow just to make sure."

He laughs suddenly, pulling me into his arms. "Hell yes! We're getting married! It's gonna be _awesome_."

I press myself closer to him, unable to turn all the way around. I hug him tightly anyway. I love that he's so excited about actually being married. "I absolutely cannot wait."

"You know," he says, kissing my cheek, "we're gonna be going nonstop with all the planning and stuff until then. We probably won't even sleep until our wedding night."

I chuckled a little, nodding in agreement. "Some wedding night." Though, I've heard that a lot of people actually spend their wedding nights doing nothing more than sleeping. I can understand that; it's often the first night in months, if not more than a year, that you don't have endless amounts of planning to worry about and you get to just decompress.

"We probably won't have a whole lot of sex before then, either."

He _would_ think of that. "Well, I guess we better get that out of the way now."

"Well, all right," he answers, and I stand up. His eyes grow wide and his pupils grow dark as he watches water and bubbles run down my body. I glance down at him—the water is significantly lower without me in it, low enough so that I can see the tip of his erection poking out of the bubbles. He's so easy.

Carefully, I step out of the tub and onto the mat, picking up my phone from when I must have tossed it earlier and putting it on the counter again. I grab a towel to dry myself and suddenly Chandler is standing beside me, gaping at me obscenely. It really doesn't take much with this guy. "Horny much?" I whisper, reaching out to carefully trace my fingers over him. He jerks beneath my touch and doesn't bother to deny it.

Without a word, he takes the towel from me and haphazardly wipes himself off, his eyes never leaving mine before he tosses the towel on the floor. His hands reach out, sliding around my waist, and I stretch up to kiss him. Before I can, however, he grabs me under my legs and pulls me up. I cross my ankles at the small of his back and wrap my arms tightly around his shoulders. "Be careful," I say softly. We've tried the whole carrying-me-around thing, and it rarely works. We're usually too naked to handle that amount of contact without nearly combusting.

But it never stops us from trying.

* * *

A/N…sexy times coming in the next chapter! I'm not going to leave you with virtual blue balls! Anyway, I'm temporarily without internet at home (other than my phone), and it feels like I'm rarely out and about anymore, so I apologize for the delay in posting. Hopefully, I won't let it go as long next time.

Anyway, I still haven't written the rest of this, but by god am I really really _really_ thinking that it would be awesome of me to do so. And, lawd help me, I feel the niggling of a different AU pulling at me. Do not hold me to that at all because I make zero promises, but if it's one of those ideas I can't shake, it may happen. Of course, this in addition to the end of the world apocalypse idea I had at one point last year. Oy. I should write more.


	40. Chapter 40

_So, I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you._

* * *

Chandler's eyes never leave mine as he slowly carries me from the bathroom to our bedroom. I whimper with every step, his erection gently rubbing against me each time. It's possible that we're always vaguely sexually charged, but it never ceases to amaze me how we can go from human to horny in the space of about five seconds.

He pauses in the middle of the bedroom, and I'm fairly certain he's going to set me down, but he just tightens his grip on me, smiling gently. "I love you."

I lean down and kiss him, tightening my limbs around him. He moans softly into my mouth and I feel him start to move forward again. Instead of putting me down on the bed, I feel him crawl onto it. He lowers me gently, slowly, and settles his weight on top of me. I smile against his mouth as we kiss, the feel of his body pressed against mine comforting and thrilling at the same time.

"Before we get too involved," he whispers, sliding one of his hands slowly up my side before wrapping underneath my shoulders. The other hand stays on my leg, holding me in place. "You or me tonight?"

"Diaphragm's already in," I answer, pressing a kiss to his neck.

"How'd you know?" he asks, lifting his head to smile at me.

"I had a hunch. It's almost impossible for us to do something mundane like bathing _together_ without it becoming about sex."

"One would think we're insatiable."

"We are." I wiggle my hips against his for a few moments, making both of us moan quietly. "When you get tired of me being willing to have sex all the time, you just let me know."

"Oh, definitely," he answers sarcastically. "It'll be such a relief when we can stop with all this pleasure nonsense and just lie with our backs together while we stare at our phones all night."

"It'll be nice to not have to put out," I tell him, my breath hitching in my throat as his hand slides up my side, stopping to gently stroke my breast. "It does get so humdrum."

He shifts against me, my legs falling open a bit more to bracket him. I gasp a little as he presses into me, my body already starting to tremble with anticipation. "Humdrum sex is my favorite. Did I forget to mention that?"

"Oh, you don't say. Well, get on with it, if you must."

"I love your enthusiasm," he whispers, leaning down to kiss me. I sigh into his mouth and feel myself come to life under his touch.

His lips trail down my neck, his teeth nipping gently at my skin. I hum happily and tighten my grip on him. As if sex with this man could ever be classified as boring.

I open my eyes to watch him work his way down to my chest. He's being so gentle and tender. Part of me can't help but just want him _now_. That part of me doesn't need the foreplay or the teasing—it just needs _him_. But…this part is nice, too, and it's so rare that we don't have Katie around to keep an ear out for, that I really want to take our time and savor each other. We probably will be extraordinarily busy the next few months, and while I'm sure we'll still manage to find time for sex—we always do—we probably won't have much opportunity for this slow stuff.

I'll take it.

He opens his eyes, meeting mine as he grins. I watch him take a nipple in his mouth and groan, my back arching off the bed for a moment. His arms unwind from around me and he cups a breast in each hand, his fingers kneading them gently. I feel him suck at me, roughly, a few times, and my hips push up against him. He switches sides, barely skimming his lips across me before taking the other in his mouth. His tongue moves over me gently for a few moments before he starts sucking with a vengeance and then going right back to gentle.

Before this man, I never realized that my boobs were quite so responsive.

"I'm sure Freud would have a lot to say about your obsession with my nipples," I gasp, my hands finding their way to the back of his neck to keep him in place.

"Freud would understand my obsession with your nipples if he could see them, too," he answers, letting out tiny little bursts of air against my over-stimulated skin. I feel my nipple tighten up almost painfully in response. "If Freud could see you naked," one of his hands comes up and starts rolling the other one gently between his fingers, "he'd know that there was nothing going on here beyond the primal. He'd get that my fascination with your breasts has nothing to do with the fact that they could potentially feed a child one day, and that I'm just a horny guy who likes your boobies. All he'd need to do is make love to you once to know that my insane desire to be inside of you at all times isn't my desperate attempt to return to the womb, but because it feels like I'm somewhere better than heaven."

I swallow heavily. "Oh, he would, would he?" I ask, my voice shaky. "Better than heaven?"

He pulls the nipple into his mouth again, ignoring me. His hand trails down my stomach, sliding gently across my hip. He shifts to the side a little and his fingers flutter against me. The touch is almost lighter than a whisper, but my entire body convulses. He looks up at me again, and I feel his fingers run up and down me. My eyes slam shut and I grab at his back. "Ohhh," I whimper. I'm ready for him. I'm _beyond_ ready for him. I've never been able to hide just how much I want him. Not ever. It doesn't take much from him, either. Half the time, all he has to do is look at me and I'm ready to rip my clothes off.

"You're exquisite," he breathes suddenly, his lips near my ear. "I've probably told you that before." His fingers slip inside me and I struggle to keep myself under control as he thrusts his hand gently. "Being with you, making love with you, is like being at home, but not like any standard definition of that word. I want to be with you all the time because that's the only time I feel right. You complete me, Monica." He buries his face in my neck for a few moments, his breathing heavy against my damp skin as he continues his gentle ministrations, my hips moving in time with him. "God, I'm so lucky," he says, looking up. "I'm the luckiest son of a bitch to ever walk the face of the earth. Why me?" I force myself to stop, looking at him in confusion. "You could have any man in the world and you picked me. Why? How?"

"Because I love you," I answer simply. "Because when we met, I felt like I already knew you somehow. Because being with you feels more right than anything else in this world ever has or ever will. I just…I love you. I wish I could explain it better, but all I know is…you're the one. Everything is better with you. I don't know if I could have any man in the world; all I know is you're the _only_ one in the world that I want."

Slowly, he withdraws his fingers, moving himself immediately into position. "I get to be married to you," he whispers, wonder filling his voice and his face.

I smile at him, taking his face in my hands. "We're getting married. I get to be your wife." It hits me right then—this is honestly and truly forever. When all of the wedding planning is finished and after we've had our party to celebrate the fact that we've decided to bind ourselves together legally, we'll be _married_. Until the day I die, I'll be Chandler Bing's wife. That should scare me. That should scare the hell out of me. But it doesn't. All I want is to be married to him now so we can start our forever.

The smile that graces his features is dazzling, and he presses his lips to mine once more. We kiss slowly, my fingers sliding leisurely down his back. I shift a little, moving my hands in between us. He gasps a little into my mouth as I carefully grasp his erection, stroking it tenderly. He's so worked up that he doesn't really need the assistance, but the feel of him is still intoxicating. Sometimes, knowing that all he needs is me naked is the biggest compliment I could ever get.

"You ready?" he whispers, even though he knows the answer. I nod anyway, and I feel him push into me. I break my lips away and gasp, my body already trembling. He lifts himself onto his hands, studying me as he gently moves his hips, waiting as I stretch to accommodate him. I grab onto his hips, breathing heavily.

I will never get tired of this connection. It's so much more than just this physical act—an act that's phenomenal, there's no doubt. But there's something about literally becoming one person for just a few minutes that completely blows my mind. Everything feels instinctual, and we're so often in perfect sync that I can't tell where he ends and I begin.

He shifts his hips again, moving a little deeper into me and my eyes flutter shut. Slowly, he pulls back again, pushing into me so, so tenderly.

"Jesus," I whisper, looking up at him. His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, and sweat is already dotting his forehead. "Better than heaven?"

Without answering, he slides into me all the way, burying himself up to the hilt. We both hiss as our hips meet, my fingers digging into his sides to keep him close. His arms shake and he drops down to his elbows, his face so close to mine that our noses touch.

His hands slide under my shoulders and he presses his lips to mine as we start to move. Slowly. So slowly. It's delicious agony. Everything inside of me quivers, and I swear that I can feel him in my soul.

I wrap one of my legs over his, my foot sliding up and down his calf muscle. I tighten my inner muscles around him, trying to keep him in place and he pulls away, gasping for air.

"Christ, Monica," he pants, staring down at me. I slide my hands to his back, digging my fingers into his skin to keep him moving.

"More."

"We don't have to rush," he answers, though he thrusts just a little harder.

"I need you," I tell him simply.

His head drops down to my shoulder, kissing my collarbone and I bury my face in his neck. My hands slide up his back to grab at his shoulder blades, and I let out a long, low, "Ohhhhhhhhh, God."

His teeth nip at my skin, sending little shockwaves through me. I kiss my way up his neck in response, my own teeth grabbing at his earlobe and tugging. His arms tighten around me in response.

"In a couple of months," he gasps, pausing to kiss me as his hips continue their slow, steady torture, the fire inside of me starting to blaze. "We'll be married. Can you believe it?"

"I get to be your wife," I answer, pushing myself up against him. I know I've already said that to him tonight, but the idea of it all still floors me. "Oh, my God, I'm so lucky."

"No," he says, stopping completely. He braces himself on his elbows again, his fingers playing with my hair. " _I'm_ the lucky one. I get to be _your_ husband. I get to spend my life with the most amazing woman and mother in the world."

Tears fill the corners of my eyes and I smile up at him, lifting a hand to brush his hair away from his forehead. Sometimes, I'm still amazed to hear myself called a mother. I know that to everyone around us, I'm Katie's mom. I know that's how Katie feels, too. But it just doesn't seem real. It feels like it's happening to someone else. The fact that he trusts me with his child enough to consider me her mother, to think that I'm someone good enough to be in her presence…it's overwhelming.

I clench myself around him again and he groans, pressing his forehead to mine as his hips start moving again, in harder, shorter thrusts. My eyes open wide as he hits a magic spot. "Yes," I whimper. "Oh, my God, yes _right there_."

He kisses me again, our lips moving slowly despite everything. He gasps as he pulls away, his lips sliding down my throat and then my chest, one hand coming up to capture a breast before he pulls as much of it into his mouth as he can.

My eyes slam shut and my fingernails dig into his skin, probably leaving marks as my back arches off the bed. "AHHHH! Chandler! Ohhh, God!"

"Better than heaven," he finally answers, his mouth barely leaving my flesh. "Oh, my God, Monica," he groans as he thrusts into me, using long, steady strokes. "There's nothing in this world that can compare to this feeling right now. Words have not yet been invented to describe how this feels. Words will never be good enough."

I take his face in my hands and pull him to me, kissing him again. He's right—words never _will_ be enough to describe what we have. It's unlike anything else. It's not perfect, but it's better than that. Our imperfections are what make us so right together. They're what make us fit, and what make us who we are.

And who we are is unstoppable.

I smile into his mouth—there may not be the right words to describe what we have, but _unstoppable_ comes pretty close. We're stronger together than we ever could imagine ourselves to be apart. That's why we're going to work. Despite all the odds and all of the stupid things that can come between people and draw them apart over the years, we're going to work because of this connection. This force that drives us to be together, this indescribable feeling of being complete with each other…nothing will tear us apart. We won't let it. We want this too damn much.

"I love you," I whisper.

His arms wrap around me, his hips pushing into me without ever pulling back, causing amazing sensations to run through me as my mouth falls open. My entire body tenses as he somehow manages to slam into me, pushing me into the bed. Everything in me tingles and electrifies, that familiar tightening in the pit of my stomach suddenly very present.

"Love you," he gasps, his arms holding me tight as our motions become frenzied. What started out as so very slow and romantic has suddenly escalated into a blinding, furious need for release.

"Oh, my God, _Chandler_ ," I moan. "So close. Oh, yes, right there."

He kisses me roughly for a few moments before he pushes himself up, gritting his teeth as he pushes into me over and over and over. I slide my hands up to his neck and watch him. He has no idea how beautiful he is, especially in these moments. The intensity on his face, the dogged single-mindedness, the determination to make each time the best time ever, the sheer focus on me and on nothing else…all of it is incredible to watch. Knowing it's all for me moves me beyond words.

At that moment, I break, falling into a million pieces in his hands, and I cry out, my voice echoing off the walls. My legs wrap around his waist as my hips move out of control. My hands move over him as I try to hold on. I don't have words All I have are sounds of pleasure and joy as my orgasm rushes through me.

I feel him pounding into me relentlessly, endlessly, until he cries out, his eyes rolling back in his head as he surges against me. I grab onto his hips and hold him close, pushing myself against him as fast as I can, desperate for more of this feeling, always desperate for more of it.

My body gives out just moments before his does, the two of us collapsing bonelessly onto the bed. He breathes heavily into my neck, his fingers gently stroking my side as I tremble with aftershocks.

This gets to be mine for the rest of my life, too. Not just the sex, though there is that, but this feeling. This indescribable, perfect feeling. Whatever it is, it's ours and we'll get to share it until the end.

His body shakes and I bring up a hand to stroke his back.

We don't say anything. There's no need, and nothing would be good enough, anyway. Especially not right now.

So we just hold each other, taking deep breaths as we stroke each other's skin and exist in this moment.

For now, we just are.

* * *

A/N…this whole not having internet thing is basically the worst. The upside is that I don't waste quite as much time as I usually do. Also, this isn't the smuttiest smut I've ever written, but I hope it satisfies a few of you. Ugh…I know there was more I wanted to say but I've had such a long weekend that my brain is now entirely mush. For now, thank you all so much for still believing in me and this "little" fic of mine (this thing is actually way longer than "You," and I felt like that was huge) and for sticking with me through this crazy ass journey. You're the best!

And 40 chapters with more to come!


	41. Chapter 41

_I could not tell you if I loved you the first moment I saw you, or if it was the second or third or fourth. But I remember the first moment I looked at you walking toward me and realized that somehow the rest of the world seemed to vanish when I was with you._

* * *

Trying on wedding dresses is weird. It's fun, but it's also just weird.

My whole life I've wanted to get married and be a bride, and it's absolutely exhilarating, but it's hard to reconcile the fantasies of my childhood with the person looking back at me in the mirror.

She looks so grown up and, even though it's probably conceited for me to even think it, breathtaking.

And this isn't even the dress that I want.

Rachel and Phoebe gush over me as I examine myself in the mirror, my mother walking around me in a slow circle as she gives her opinion.

"You should definitely get married in that dress, Monica," Rachel exclaims. "You look like something out of a fairytale."

I twist my head to get a better view of the back—it _is_ a gorgeous dress, but it doesn't feel like _my_ dress.

I didn't expect finding a wedding dress to be the hardest part of this entire affair, but just two months out from the big day and I still haven't found the one yet. It's difficult to find the dress of my dreams when I never had anything terribly specific that I had my heart set on as a little girl. I just liked wedding dresses. In the long run, I know it doesn't matter. I'm pretty sure Chandler will like it no matter what, and it's only for the day, but I just feel like that when I find the dress, I'll know.

All things considered, though, if this is the biggest hurdle in our expedited wedding, I can live with it. Things have been coming together remarkably well, and I keep holding my breath, hoping our luck will hold out.

Aside from the predictable initial joking about me being pregnant and this being a shotgun wedding, everyone has been on board with us getting married in May, and they've been wonderfully supportive, dealing with me calling anyone and everyone at all hours of the day and night as new ideas and worries come to me. My phone is constantly buzzing with new texts and emails, letting me know if something is going right or if something has gone off the rails.

Fortunately, having worked in the food and service industry for as long as I have, I know a lot of people who own smaller catering business, who offer better prices and, honestly, better food than a lot of the bigger ones I know of. Finding someone who was available at relatively short notice wasn't as much of a challenge as I worried it might be. We have someone who'll deliver tables and chairs to the beach house the day before the wedding, we've gone fairly minimal on flowers so we don't have to worry too much about that. We have someone working on our cake, and it turns out that some of the people Chandler works with are really creative and have a side business in photography. Chandler suggested them and I figured I would do the obligatory perusal through their portfolio before politely turning them down, but…they're definitely in business for a reason. Their photographs were astounding and I told a pleased looking Chandler to sign them on immediately. They'll be going out to the beach the day before the wedding, too, to get pictures of the set up, the rehearsal, and whatever else they feel is necessary.

Today has been about dresses. Initially, it was to find bridesmaid dresses, but one thing lead to another and that's how I've wound up in nearly every variation on the theme so far.

And it's not even lunch.

"Yeah, that dress is great, Mon," Phoebe says, pulling me out of my reverie. "It looks gorgeous on you."

I shrug half-heartedly. "Eh."

"What's wrong with it?" Rachel asks, eyeing me critically. "Is it too beautiful? Too to-die-for? Too stunning?"

"It doesn't fit," my mother answers, crossing her arms over her chest as she looks me over. I look at her in confusion—her insight with all this wedding stuff has been uncanny. At least if there was ever going to be a time for us to be in sync, it's about my wedding.

"What do you mean?" Phoebe demands. "It fits perfectly. It went from the rack to Monica and it fits like a glove."

"That's not the fit she meant, Pheebs," I answer, turning from side to side as I study myself, just to be sure. "It doesn't fit the wedding."

"Just because you're having a small, laid-back ceremony doesn't mean your dress can't be out-of-this-world," Rachel argues, sounding disgusted with the idea of me having anything less than a big blowout of a wedding.

"I don't disagree," I tell her, stepping carefully down from the pedestal. "But this isn't the one. Now, will you guys start trying on dresses, please?"

This part was more difficult than I thought, too, because bridesmaid's dresses have changed dramatically since I first started imagining a wedding when I was a little girl. I'm sure the gigantic puffy sleeves are still available somewhere, but most of the dresses nowadays have a more elegant look, with cleaner lines and fewer frills. They're designed to be worn more than once, possibly, or at the very least to make the entire wedding party look nicely put together. So the first question was if I wanted them to have matching dresses or not. I've noticed that a lot of brides lately seem to be going toward a color scheme more than everyone matching. At first, I was adamant about them wearing the same thing, but after seeing so many dresses, I'm less than sure. If we can find something they both look good in, then problem solved.

Ugh. It's too much.

At least we have the color down. Instead of competing with the scenery, I found a gorgeous blue with just the slightest hint of green that'll complement both the ocean and the sand. Even if the weather isn't perfect and sunny that day, it'll still look amazing. Mostly, though, I picked it because it'll have to be in something Chandler's wearing—his tie, his vest, whatever—and it'll look unbelievable with his eyes.

I don't bother taking off the dress as we poke through the racks, Rachel and Phoebe randomly pulling out new gowns for me but nothing for themselves. It feels like too much bother to strip down at the moment, and even though this isn't the dress I intend to buy, it's kind of fun to wear it around a little.

I finally pull out a few dresses for the girls that I like, even managing to convince them to try them on. Rachel wanders behind the curtained off area, but Phoebe just drops trou in the middle of everything, unconcerned with my mother's look of shock at seeing this woman, who's still practically a stranger, almost completely naked.

That's Phoebe, though—always sort of in her own world, not terribly concerned with what anyone else thinks of her. It's one of my absolute favorite parts of this woman. Everyone needs someone like that in their life.

"I was right, you know," she says suddenly, arms straight up in the air as she shimmies the dress into place.

"Right about what?" I ask absently, flipping through more racks with more gowns. I'm going to see these things dancing through my dreams tonight.

"Last year, at my wedding reception. I told you that you'd be married within the year. I was right."

I pause, turning slowly. "I had completely forgotten about that."

"What're you talking about?" my mother asks, looking up from her own venture through the wedding dresses.

"Chandler and I went to Phoebe's wedding last summer," I start, still a little surprised that I hadn't even thought about that conversation.

"I knew then," Phoebe answers with a shrug, turning so I can zip her up dress. "Probably everyone knew it then, honestly. I told her they'd be married within the year. And it looks like I'm right."

"Lucky guess," Rachel calls from behind the curtain, her voice a little muffled.

"Psychic," Phoebe answers.

"There's no such thing," she says disdainfully, shrieking a moment later when Phoebe pushes the curtain aside to help her into the dress.

"Then how'd I know you were stuck right now?" she asks, tugging the garment into position.

Rachel rolls her eyes and pushes her hair out of her face, maneuvering past Phoebe to get to the mirrors. "This one's nice, Mon, but it's probably too much of a struggle to get into it, especially after our hair's been done."

"Why don't you believe that I'm psychic?" Phoebe asks, standing next to Rachel in the mirror.

"I believe that _you_ believe you're psychic. Isn't the enough?"

"But I—"

"Can we not?" I ask impatiently. "I hate to interrupt this love fest, but you have all the time in the world to argue for the _millionth_ time if Phoebe is psychic or not. Can we just have this one day where you put all that aside and just have fun trying on dresses?"

Rachel and Phoebe stare at me, shocked. They really have had this discussion a dozen times, and I've always let them ride it out. It's become somewhat comforting, like an old song that I know by heart, but I just can't deal with it today. "Geez, what's with you?" Rachel asks, bewildered.

Without a word, my mom stands up and pulls a granola bar out of her bag, unwrapping it and handing me half in a napkin. Being careful of the dress, I down it gratefully. "Low blood sugar?" she asks, waiting for my reaction. "Did you remember to eat this morning?"

I shrug, amazed by the difference I feel almost instantly. "I think so. Probably. I know Katie ate."

"This isn't going to be a sprint," she reminds me, handing over a bottle of water. "It's a marathon. You need to make sure you're keeping yourself fueled no matter what. There's too much going on for you to stop taking care of yourself now."

"I am, Mom, I am."

"You know I have no trouble calling Chandler and making sure he watches you like a hawk."

I put my hands on my hips, mouth opening to answer. "We'll take care of her." My head whips around to find Phoebe and Rachel staring me down. I'm not even sure which one of them said it.

"God, you'd think I'm purposely neglecting myself. Today isn't the first time I haven't been sure if I've eaten since Katie came into my life, and I'm sure it won't be the last. Just because I got a little hangry doesn't mean it's time to call in the National Guard."

"Well, since you're the one who decided to plan an entire wedding in less than three months _without_ any sort of planner at all," Rachel says, looking to Phoebe for support, "we'll have to make sure you're doing the everyday things like eating."

"You're all ganging up on me. Nice." Truthfully, though, it _is_ nice. Chandler and I both have been so exhausted lately that a lot of the simple things are probably falling between the cracks. We knew throwing together a wedding in a short amount of time would be tough, but I don't think either of us anticipated just how much it would take out of us.

It'll all be worth it, though. The payoff will make all this stuff in between worth everything we're putting ourselves through now.

Phoebe eyes me warily while Rachel grabs the bottom of her dress, pulling it over her head with a lot more ease than she was able to put it on. She does her damndest to pretend she's fine with parading around in her underwear as she hangs up the dress and grabs one like Phoebe's wearing. She pulls that one on, pausing as my mother zips it up for her, and stands in front of the mirror again. "This one's good."

I rub my temples for a few moments. I really have no idea what's going on. Is this all some hallucination brought on by lack of sleep and hunger? "What?" I ask weakly.

"This dress. This is a good bridesmaid dress. I think it looks good on both of us."

"I think so, too," Phoebe agrees. "If you like it, then I don't think we need to keep looking."

I take a few deep breaths and force myself to look up. The smile that takes over my face is instantaneous. "Oh, wow. You guys look _gorgeous_."

The two of them smile at me beatifically, almost bashfully, as if they weren't just making my life hell moments ago. They're worse than Katie half the time.

"Does this work for you?" Rachel asks, twirling for effect. She looks like a little kid—in fact, she reminds me of when we were little girls playing dress-up. It's fairly simple, as far as these things go—floor-length, one-shouldered, no embellishments, but they look absolutely stunning. The color is perfect and the simplicity will go well with the setting.

A wave of relief washes over me. Finding the right bridesmaid dress certainly doesn't solve everything, but it definitely feels like one large hurdle has been jumped. It's definitely a step in the right direction.

I rush over to my bag and grab my phone, aiming it in their direction. "I need to get this. I want to remember what they look like, and Chandler might want to see them, too."

I hear my mother protesting as Phoebe and Rachel pose for me, saying something about how Chandler shouldn't see _any_ of this until the wedding day, but I ignore her on this one. I've never heard anything about the groom not seeing the bridesmaids' dresses before the ceremony. Honestly, I don't know that I believe it's bad luck for him to see _my_ dress before the big day, either, but I like the idea of the surprise of it all. Some of the best wedding pictures I've seen are the ones of the groom seeing their soon-to-be wife in the dress for the first time, and while I don't know if Chandler will react like that at all, it's worth it to me to try.

My phone vibrates suddenly, a text message popping up. _Hey hon. I'm out front._

"Must be Chandler," Rachel teases, and I look up at her with a grin.

"How could you tell?"

"The goofy smile—remember? You go all fifteen-year-old-girl when it comes to him."

I shrug and toss my phone over to my things. "Well, he's here, so I'll be right back."

"He can't see you in that dress!"

"Why's he here?"

"What's going on? Doesn't he know what we're doing?"

I blink at them a few times before letting out a giggle—I really have no idea who asked which question. "He's dropping off Katie so we can find a dress for her, too, remember?"

"Well, I'll go out there and get her," my mother answers as she moves to stand, but I just hold up my hand to stop her.

"It's all right, Mom. This isn't the dress I'm getting, so it doesn't matter if he sees it." I grab the skirt and hike it up a little so I can walk properly. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes, I promise." With that, I walk out of our secluded little back room, the open air of the shop soothing me instantly. I definitely needed the break, and I haven't seen my fiancé or my daughter since early this morning. I could use a fix.

The shop is oddly quiet, though I attribute that to the hundreds of yards of tulle and taffeta muffling all noise possible. One of the clerks gives me a strange look as I peek around racks, smiling at me tentatively. "Can I help you find something?"

"Just my fiancé. He said he was here—"

"Hi, Mama."

I grin, looking down at the floor. Katie smiles back at me, still bundled up to ward off the chilly March day. "Hi, baby girl," I answer, squatting down so we're face to face. I take her hands in mine, her fingers still toasty from her mittens. I carefully lean over the dress to give her a kiss. "Where's your daddy?"

"Hi, Mama," she repeats, looking dazzled, her eyes huge as she tries to take me in. "Hi, Mama."

"It's Mama, Katie. I promise." She's so funny. We're still working on simple sentences with her, but she does know how to greet people. It's one of her favorite things to do these days, actually. But she seems to be having a tough time reconciling the mama she sees every day with the one that's all dressed up in front of her. She blinks at me a few times even as her smile grows wider. "Where's Daddy?"

"She's slippery," I hear Chandler pant. "I took off her mittens and she bolted. Do you know how impossible it is to find someone that small in all this…" His voice trails off as I stand, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he swallows heavily. "Oh, my God," he breathes.

It takes me a moment to figure out his reaction, and I bite my lip and duck my head, trying to hold back my grin. It's the dress. I've never seen him speechless like this before. "You like it?" I ask softly, smoothing it down over my body.

"Oh, my God," he repeats, still stunned. He sticks out his hand for Katie, who holds on willingly this time. "You look amazing."

"Really?"

He lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Jesus, Monica…I don't…I can't...wow. Just unbelievable. Should I be seeing you in this?"

"Hi, Mama."

I smile down at Katie again, her eyes still wide with wonder. "It's fine. This isn't the dress I'm getting," I tell him, reaching down to stroke Katie's short hair.

"God, why not?"

I bite my cheek, trying not to smile too hard at his reaction. "It's too much. It doesn't feel right. It's beautiful, but it's not my dress."

He takes a couple of steps toward me, his free hand reaching out to stroke my face. "I wasn't expecting this," he breathes, staring at me in fascination. "It's incredible."

"If you're this bad now," I ask, forcing myself to swallow. "What are you going to be like when you actually see me coming down the aisle?"

"It won't be pretty, I can tell you that much. I'm an ugly crier."

"Chandler—" He presses his lips to mine, cutting me off. This reaction was really more than I ever imagined. He seems honestly floored by me in this dress, so much so that I don't really know how to process it.

"Mama."

We break apart, laughing a little. I press my forehead against Chandler's for a moment, letting him compose himself.

"What've you guys been up to all day?" I ask, not ready to go back into that room just yet.

Chandler stoops down and lifts Katie into the air, pulling her laughing, squealing body to him as he gives her cheek a big kiss. "We had very important business to take care of."

"Very important business, huh?" I ask, tickling Katie's side. "So important that Mama can't know about it?"

"No, actually, you're the one who really needs to know," he answers, rifling through Katie's diaper bag until he produces a heavy manila envelope.

"What's this?" I ask, looking at it curiously. "Pre-nup?"

"Oh, yes, of course," he answers with a roll of his eyes. "Because I have billions of dollars stashed away and I'm afraid you'll try to take it from me."

"That's what I thought," I say with a chuckle, flipping up the tabs and pulling out the paperwork. My eyes instantly start to swim, the print so tiny and the jargon so intense that I really have no clue what I'm looking at. "All right, honey, I have no idea what this is."

He shifts Katie a little, giving me a small, happy smile. "It's the first stages of the adoption papers."

My heart lodges in my throat. "What?"

"I want you to be Katie's mother—legally. I don't want you to just be her stepmother, I want it official. I want her birth certificate to have your name next to mine and no one will ever be able to question your place in her life. And when she's a moody little teenager, she won't ever be able to pull that 'you're not my real mother' crap. You'll be her mom and that's that."

"You want me to be her mother?" I repeat, staring at the papers in shock.

He takes a step toward me, sliding his free hand around the back of my neck. "You already are, Mon. You know that. This will just make it official."

"I…" My eyes fill with tears—I've never been so moved in my entire life. It didn't occur to me to adopt Katie. We've been living in our happy little bubble where everyone knows or assumes that I'm her mother, and I'm generally given the same rights as any legal parent, but we haven't had to put that to the test. There hasn't been an emergency with her that only I've been around to handle, and I suppose even just being her stepmother would eventually lead to some situation arising that I wouldn't be allowed to take care of, even if I'm the only mother she's ever known.

"You do want this, don't you?" he asks, suddenly looking nervous. "I mean, it's really just a formality at this point. You've always been her mother—just ask Katie. But I thought it'd be a good idea, in case—"

I wrap my arms around the two of them, cutting him off. I hold on for dear life, the grin overtaking my face. "I want this more than anything," I whisper into his ear. "Thank you."

"There's no getting rid of us now," he answers, hugging me back just as tight.

"Good." I pull back, taking Chandler's face in one hand and Katie's in the other. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

We smile at each other goofily for a few moments before he clears his throat, looking away. "Um, yeah, so I should go and let you get back to trying on dresses."

He's so cute when he's embarrassed. "All right."

He leans in and gives me a quick kiss before kissing the top of Katie's head, gently setting her on the floor. "You get to spend the rest of the day with Mama and Aunt Phoebe and Aunt Rachel and your Nana. Sounds good, right?"

Katie looks up at him, confused, before holding out her arms to be picked up again. "No, no, silly," I tell her, squatting in front of her again. "You're a big girl. You can walk for a little while, can't you?"

She stretches her hands out to me so I play with her fingers while Chandler finishes off our usual "passing off the child" spiel. "She's been snacking all day, so I don't know if she's going to be into a big lunch. She has a bunch of stuff in the bag because I didn't know what you guys were going to be in the middle of. She took a couple of catnaps, too—she could be ready for a meltdown, she could be ready to rock and roll all night. It's anyone's guess. Other than that…I'll see you at home at some point this evening?"

"Yeah," I answer without looking up at him. Katie's staring at me in fascination again and it's hard to look away. "I don't know what time, but I'll try not to be too late. I'll call or text when I know what's going on. Katie, can you say bye-bye to Dada?"

I watch her look up at Chandler, her little fingers clenching and unclenching as she waves. "Bye, Dada."

"Bye-bye, sweetheart. I'll see you in a few hours. Take care of Mama, all right?"

"You ready to try on dresses?" I ask Katie as I stand, stretching my hand out for hers. "It's gonna be fun."

"Okay," she answers in her tiny, lilting voice. Her answer to "fun" is almost always "okay." She sounds like an itty bitty adult when she says it even though we're almost completely sure it's more of a Pavlovian response than anything else right now.

"Have fun, sweetie. Be good for Mommy."

I roll my eyes—she's on the verge of the terrible twos, showing more and more often lately just how terrible she's capable of being. As long as the group of us keep on top of feeding her and being aware if she needs a nap, it shouldn't be the worst experience of our lives. I see him handing me the diaper bag out of the corner of my eye, but before I can take it, the sales clerk I ran into earlier appears out of nowhere and grabs it. "I'll take care of this for you," she says, hurrying off to the dressing area with the bag held away from her body. She's probably been having palpitations watching me with Katie, wondering when I'm going to get some sort of baby fluid on this ridiculously expensive dress. I don't blame her, honestly.

Katie and I walk a few steps, which isn't easy when she keeps staring up at me. Her utter enthrallment is completely adorable. I wonder if she'll be just as fascinated when she sees herself all dressed up.

"Love you," I tell Chandler, looking over my shoulder only to sigh in exasperation. His phone is in front of him again, taking pictures. "What're you doing?"

He looks at me around the device, grinning broadly. "These are going in the spank bank."

"That is so romantic," I answer.

"You know I've always been smooth," he answers, stepping up to me to give me another quick kiss. "Love you, too."

I shake my head at him and hold onto Katie's hand, helping her toddle back into the dressing room. Everyone breaks out into greetings for Katie, holding out their hands in hopes that she'll pick them first. Not surprisingly, she makes her way to Phoebe, so I just turn my back to my mother.

"Will you help me out of this, please, before I ruin it?" She and Rachel immediately start working at the buttons, freeing me from the dress in short order. Rachel hands me the robe I brought along so that I wouldn't have to constantly put on my clothes in between trying on dresses. I see my mother pointing to a rack of dresses they've found for me, parked right next to the dresses we picked out for Katie, but I don't really hear what she's saying.

All I can think about is the fact that Chandler spent the morning, and possibly other mornings and afternoons, with his lawyer, drawing up papers so that I can be Katie's mother forever. No one will ever be able to question our connection or my right to make decisions for her. We're going to be a family in every sense of the word and it's a lot to process.

I wander over to my phone as they play with Katie for a few minutes, the screen bright with a notification. Chandler sent me another text message. I glance over my shoulder to make sure everyone is occupied before I punch in the code and pull up my messages. A picture pops up instead, making my eyes fill with tears. It's me, squatting on the floor in front of Katie as she stares at me in fascination while I hold onto her tiny fingers.

The phone buzzes again, another picture popping up—this time, it's me and Katie holding hands as we walk away from Chandler. The late morning light streaming in through the front windows hits us, giving the cellphone picture a completely professional look. Katie and I are smiling at each other—I can't tell who is looking at whom more adoringly because it's a neck-and-neck tie—and it looks so sweet and perfect that someone would think it was planned. I'm sure our wedding photographer won't be able to recapture this moment, but it's definitely a request I'll make.

 _Katie and her mommy._

I laugh quietly, dabbing at my cheeks.

 _For the spank bank, huh?_ I type back, saving the pictures to my phone afterward.

 _So I lied_ , he answers. _Probably sets a bad precedent, doesn't it?_

 _I'll let it slide this once. I love you._

 _I love you, too_.

The phone stays quiet after that, so I start flipping through the dresses they've found, ready to find the one I'm going to wear as I become Mrs. Bing.

* * *

A/N…Not gonna lie, I stole some of the adoption lines from "The Nanny." That was one of my favorite shows back in the day. Actually, still is, really. I really need to start writing author's notes as things come to me because I feel like there was more I was going to say to you lovelies. I'm making progress on the rest of this story, so that's something. Amazingly, I've been writing this for about a year now. "You" took me 2-3 months and this has taken a year. On the upside, I'm seeing it through to the end. I have no doubt, though, that you guys will be able to recognize what I wrote before my hiatus and what I've added on since. I feel like it's disjointed, but maybe that's just me. Also, I envy you people in foreign countries right now because you don't have to deal with the fact that Republicans seem to think that Donald Trump would be a super idea for president. I mean, I'm pretty sure my girl Hill will win this, but it's still horrifying to think there's that much racism and hatred in this country. Ugh. If Trump or Cruz becomes President, though, I'm moving to Sweden.


	42. Chapter 42

_This is what we call love. When you are loved, you can do anything in creation. When you are loved, there's no need at all to understand what's happening, because everything happens within you._

* * *

I feel myself start to yawn and quickly try to stifle it. I look down at the floor, hoping no one will notice my utter exhaustion as the yawn goes on for what feels like eternity.

I'm tired on a whole new level.

I can't believe I was stupid enough to think that planning an entire wedding in just a few months was a good idea. What on earth possessed me to say "May" when Chandler asked me for a date? It seemed like a really good idea at the time, and at that point, three months felt like forever.

I glance across the room, my eyes landing immediately on my fiancé. He's smiling and laughing with some of his coworkers, as if he doesn't have a care in the world. No one but me would notice the exhaustion in his eyes or the complete fatigue in his stance. I think he might be more worn out than I am. He's been with me every step of the way with this wedding. He's stayed up late and gotten up early, schlepped all over the city or back and forth to Connecticut almost daily by this point, putting in extra hours at work when he can so that we can really enjoy our honeymoon. He's been an absolute saint while I've had meltdowns worse than anything Katie has ever produced. Every morning when we wake up and every night before we go to sleep, he looks at me, no matter how horrible or psychotic I've been, and says, "I can't wait to marry you."

He looks up at me, his face lighting up as he grins. The weariness etched across his face vanishes for a few moments as our eyes meet, making my heart flutter around erratically in my chest.

 _This_ is why I thought getting married so soon was a good idea. The way he's looking at me right now, the way he makes me feel like I'm the only person in the world, and how I know just by the way his eyes crinkle at the edges when he sees me that he loves me—completely, utterly, unconditionally. He's doing all of this to make me happy and because he's crazy enough to think that spending a lifetime with me is a great idea.

He really must be crazy, at least with the way I've been behaving at times.

He's been good to me, though, this whole time. He takes it all in stride, giving it back to me when I'm really going off the deep end and bringing me back to earth. I don't know what I did to deserve this. Truly, I don't. The only answer I have is that he's absolutely, undoubtedly the one for me. No one else would put up with this.

He keeps reassuring me that I've not been as bad as I think, but I'm more inclined to think that he's just treading lightly. Poor man.

The guys standing with him notice Chandler smiling at me and start heckling him. I feel my nose scrunch up at them and he walks toward me, the other guys making "whipped" noises as they follow. My hackles go up even as Chandler rolls his eyes, making me feel marginally better.

"Hey, honey," he says softly, putting his hands on my hips. "Everything all right?"

Before I can answer, I hear another whip cracking, this time coming from someone's phone. These guys are obviously super clever. There really is an app for everything.

"Mostly," I answer, cocking my eyebrow toward his coworkers. Chandler nods, moving to stand behind me. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me close, his body warm and reassuring against mine.

"You are so toast, buddy," one of the guys—Dave, I think—chortles, reaching out to whack Chandler on the shoulder.

"What d'you mean?" Chandler asks, giving me a squeeze.

"She doesn't have to say anything and you come running."

"Just like a little puppy," another one laughs. His name escapes me. Mentally, I've been calling him Asshole One as I watch him pound beer and ogle every female in the room. He seems like a really classy guy. I'm not even sure why he's here tonight, though I know he's not on the guest list for the wedding.

"Don't even get to have a real bachelor party," Asshole Two clucks, shaking his head. "Where are the strippers, man? These are your last few days of freedom—you should be living it up!" I've met this guy before at some work function of Chandler's. He seemed nice enough then, but I guess he's been spending too much time with his coworker.

"I don't really look at it that way," Chandler answers, pressing a kiss to the side of my head.

"C'mon, man! You're about to be shackled to one chick for the rest of your life. You need to cut loose one last time before your life ends." Oh, yes—the Douche Bag. Almost forgot about him. Seriously, so glad these guys are at this party.

I feel my entire body tense at his words, though. I know part of the anger is irrational—I'm running on not nearly enough sleep and I have too many things going on at one time to have patience for much, but I told Chandler a few months ago that if I heard him make any comments like this—ball and chain stuff, being tied down, losing his freedom—that we were done. Those sorts of comments have always irritated me, and if for some reason Chandler happened to feel that way, I didn't want any part of it. It's offensive, and since I never pressured him for marriage or any sort of commitment, I didn't want to have to listen to him complain about being trapped.

I probably scared him out of ever making comments like that, but he did look at me like I was crazy. He reassured me over and over that he didn't feel that way. He told me he was beyond happy to never have to be "out there" again, and that he wouldn't have asked me to marry him if he wasn't sure he wanted to be bound to me for all eternity.

Still, I was a little surprised when the subject of bachelor and bachelorette parties came up and he told me that he had no interest in one. He said the only woman he wants to watch strip is me. I feel like that has to be at least a small lie, but even after I told him that he could have a party if he really wanted to, he still refused. Personally, I don't have the time nor the desire for a party of my own, even though Phoebe and Rachel tried. As it turned out, though, Chandler's boss offered to throw us a joint party in his brownstone, and neither of us had the heart to refuse. We didn't have to plan it—all we had to do was give him a guest list and show up. It's hard to turn down an offer like that, even more so since our wedding is going to be fairly small. A lot of people didn't make it onto the guest list. They seemed happy with the party invitation, though.

So far, there have been no strippers, no kegstands, no body shots or beer bongs. I'm hoping this will hold out through the rest of the evening.

"I kind of like to think of it as married to the love of my life, but to each his own," Chandler answers sarcastically.

Asshole One rolls his eyes. "Whatever, man. In less than a week, you're going to be tethered to this chick until the end of your days."

"Yeah, your days of freedom and doing whatever you want are almost up," Maybe-Dave throws in, his drink sloshing over his hand as he stumbles just a little. "You need to do something _wild_."

"Such as?" Chandler asks drily, irritation tingeing his voice.

"I know a great strip club," the Douche Bag slurs, leaning in toward us. "The girls are _very_ friendly. I mean, like, _very_. Everyone gets a happy ending, if you know what I mean."

My entire body tenses, but Chandler just tightens his arms around my waist. A good thing, too, because I feel like tearing their eyes out.

"That sounds… _really_ unpleasant, actually," Chandler answers, and when I glance over at him, disgust is written all over his face. "I think I'll pass."

"Dude, this is the last chick you're ever going to sleep with. _Ever_. Don't you want to bag a few more before it's all over?" Asshole Two asks, looking genuinely concerned. "I mean, I can't stand the thought of never seeing another woman naked for the rest of my life."

The other guys chuckle and nudge him, making my stomach turn. This can't be a real conversation going on around me. I'm not even sure which part bothers me more—the fact that they're saying this in front of me, like I'm not even here, or the fact that every last one of them is wearing a wedding band.

I feel really bad for the poor women who married these guys, and I hope for their sake, they all get tested for STDs regularly.

"I'm actually really, really good with only being with Monica for the rest of my life, but thanks. She's more than enough woman for me."

The group of them eye me appraisingly, not at all in the way Joey likes to do with any female he comes in contact with—that's almost charming. This…this is actually nauseating. I've never felt more like a piece of meat than I do at this moment.

"Hey, man, let me get you a drink," Asshole Two offers, teetering a little on his feet.

"No, thanks, I'm set."

"Aw, hell, you're not even _drinking_? What kind of chick are you marrying?"

I feel Chandler shrug the same time I do, but neither of us have ever been really big drinkers. With everything that's been going on the last few months, I can't say that I've honestly thought much about it, either. Coffee and water have been my drugs of choice, and the coffee doesn't seem to be making much of a dent at this point. I think even just a glass of wine would put me over the edge so I'm perfectly content to wait until things settle down a bit more. My mother keeps using her "marathon not a sprint" metaphor, handing me bottles of water at every chance to make sure I don't get dehydrated, but I certainly wouldn't stop Chandler from having a beer or two. Just like me, though, he's trying hard just to stay functioning, and the last thing he needs is to end up obliterated by one drink.

"What's that you're drinking?" Asshole One asks. "Is that just water in your glass? I thought you had a vodka or something in there. This chick's got you on a short leash, doesn't she?"

"So, let me ask you guys something," I interrupt, and they all look at me in surprise, as if they managed to forget I was actually a person and not just some sort of arm candy. "Am I a small bird with yellow feathers?"

They blink at me for a few moments, confused. "Huh?" Maybe-Dave asks, damn near scratching his head.

"Well, you keep calling me a chick, so I was just wondering if my appearance had changed somehow since I last looked in the mirror."

Chandler snickers in my ear, but the Douche Bag rolls his eyes. "Oh—you're one of _those_ women."

"One that doesn't like to be compared to small, barnyard fowl? Yeah, I'm a real bitch."

"Good luck with _this_ one, Chandler," the Douche Bag says, sneering at me, but I just roll my eyes. These guys have to be in my imagination. They seem more like they were plucked out of some sexual harassment video than actual functioning members of society. Though I suppose those stereotypes have to come from somewhere.

"Thanks!" Chandler answers brightly. "I _will_ be lucky if she keeps me around for a few years."

"Yeah, well, we always know a few girls who'd be willing to…help take the edge off," Asshole One says, waggling his eyebrows.

"You idiots _do_ realize that my fiancée is standing right here, don't you? I mean, you're aware that she can hear you and understand you, and that she's not some mindless Stepford Wife, right?" Chandler asks, the tension in his body suddenly very evident. "Not that Monica needs me to defend her, because God knows she can take care of herself, but you're acting like a bunch of jackasses." I feel a big grin spread across my face. Chandler's right—I _can_ take care of myself, but it's nice to know that he finds these guys to be morons, too. "Now, I'm gonna walk away, and I suspect my fiancée will, too. I can't ask you to leave because this isn't our house, but all I can say is thank _God_ none of you are coming to our wedding. I'm happy to keep our working relationship cordial and friendly, but other than that, please forget that you know me. I'm not interested in anything you have to offer, and I can only hope your wives are smart enough to divorce your asses." He finally lets go of my waist and our hands automatically find each other. Our fingers twine together, Chandler giving me the gentlest of tugs. Before I can stop myself, I bat my eyes and give the group of guys a delicate little wave before we make our way to the other side of the living room.

"Oh, my God, honey, that was so awesome," I tell him, standing up on tiptoe to press my lips to his.

"I feel like I'm gonna throw up," he mumbles, making me giggle. Confrontation definitely isn't one of his favorite things, even less so with people he knows.

"Well, I'm proud of you. Those guys were such dicks."

"I swear, I had no idea they were like that until just now. They seemed so normal. I mean, yeah, they'd make a few obscene comments from time to time, but nothing like _that_."

"Then why are they even here?"

"Hey, I didn't invite them. My boss just asked if he could invite a few of my coworkers to beef up the guest list. He threw the party for us—I wasn't going to say no. Besides, like I said, they all seemed so normal." He puts his hands on my hips, his thumbs stroking me gently. "You know that I don't think the way they do, right? You know I'd never risk everything we have for a random hookup. You're the only one I ever want to be with."

My heart flutters because I know. I've known it for a long time. I know he's not interested in other women, though that doesn't stop him from gaping at a few from time to time. I can deal with that part because I know it doesn't mean anything—I've done it a couple of times, too. I think it's completely fine that we find other people attractive as long as we're not _attracted_ to those people. I know we're in this together—completely and a hundred percent.

"It's still nice to hear it," I tell him as I nod. "But, you know, feel free to have a beer or something while we're here. Just because I'm too tired to drink anything remotely alcoholic doesn't mean you have to abstain in solidarity."

He chuckles, his eyebrow lifting in disbelief. "You really think I want anything to make me drowsy right now? I can't—"

"No beer, no wine, no alcohol," Rachel says, suddenly appearing in front of us with two more glasses of water. "You're this close to the finish line, we don't want to risk either of you having some weird hangover that lasts for the rest of the week. Hydrate."

Chandler and I blink at each other in surprise, slowly accepting the glasses from her. Our other friends appear around us, looking at us accusingly as if we were about to run off with a bottle of tequila and get blitzed.

"Rache, you're starting to sound just like my mother," I tell her even though I drink the water gratefully.

"Mom told us to keep an eye on the two of you," Ross confesses, though he doesn't look the least bit apologetic.

"We _are_ adults, you know," Chandler grumbles, looking slightly offended. "I think we can take care of ourselves."

"Mmmhmm, mmmhmm," Phoebe answers, nodding. "And how many times a day do we have to call Monica to ask if she's eaten anything?"

"Hey, why are you picking on me? I didn't say anything!"

"How could anyone just forget to eat?" Joey asks in disbelief, shaking his head. I don't think he's ever missed a meal; usually, he winds up eating other people's meals, too. "And you're around food all the time at work!"

"You'd be surprised at how often you don't think about food when you see it all the time," I tell him, not at all surprised when Mike hands me a plate of food a moment later.

"That's crazy. That'd be like a guy who works in porn saying he doesn't think about naked girls," Joey exclaims, looking disgusted at the very notion.

"Does it make any of you feel better to know that I have to be reminded to do just about everything lately?" They all simultaneously give me the look and I step closer to Chandler for protection. It's not untrue, though Chandler isn't doing much better. He usually has to ask me if I've brushed my teeth or remind me to put on the right clothes. One or both of us usually wind up falling asleep on the couch, waking hours later with stiff necks and sore backs before shuffling off to bed. The only one that doesn't seem to be suffering from all this is Katie. All of our spare mental energy goes into making sure our almost-two-year-old gets through this entire thing in one piece.

Katie. I miss that little beast. We've only been away from her for a couple of hours, but it feels like too long. Of course, I say that now because my mind is only focusing on the sweet, loving little girl she _can_ be and not the pint-sized terror she often transforms into. She's definitely a toddler now, and she's definitely enjoying the world of the terrible twos. It's anyone's guess at this point if she'll actually behave like a human during the wedding, but we have all of her grandparents on standby in case of a meltdown. I'm keeping my fingers crossed but I'm not expecting miracles.

Their conversations around us drift off after they make sure Chandler and I start picking at the food, and I'm not surprised to find that I'm fairly hungry. Probably forget a meal or two today.

"Just a few more days," Chandler mumbles around a mouthful of food. Looks like he forgot about eating, too. It's a wonder either of us are able to still technically considered to be contributing members of society right now.

"Oh, hey. Guess what?"

"What?" he asks, going to town on the bacon-wrapped scallops.

"I have the most amazing wedding present for you," I tell him softly, glancing at our group of friends. None of them are paying much attention to either of us beyond making sure we're eating and hydrating.

Chandler pauses, looking very chipmunk-like with his cheeks puffed out and full of food. He watches me curiously as he finally remembers to chew, swallowing slowly. "Is that a thing? Getting wedding presents for each other?"

I shrug, playing with the buttons on his jacket. "I have no idea."

He starts to look panicky, his breathing getting faster as his eyes widen. "Oh—uh—well, I can go—"

"Chandler, don't worry about it."

His eyes grow wider, staring at me with disbelief. "Don't worry about it? So, on our wedding day I get some wonderful, thoughtful gift and you'll get—".

"Honey, you gave me a daughter. There's not much I can do that will ever come close to that." The paperwork isn't quite complete—we haven't had as much time to work on that aspect as we thought, but it won't be long before I'm legally Katie's mother.

"I don't know that it's really the same thing," he says doubtfully, looking quite crestfallen.

"I don't expect nor do I want anything in return," I assure him. "The only reason I told you about it now is so I can watch you squirm and whine for a few days."

"Monicaaaaa," he whines right on cue, making me laugh. I may have been like a little kid this past Christmas with being unable to sleep, but he was much worse about the presents. We couldn't keep any under the tree ahead of time because Katie would have just torn them to shreds, so he had to stare at the growing pile of them in our closet for weeks ahead of time. He'd poke at them and wiggle around, asking what they were and if he could open just one. Telling him ahead of time about a present was a calculated risk, but I couldn't resist. He'll never find it, anyway.

"You want a hint?" I ask, tugging at his tie.

"Uh-huh!" he answers, nodding enthusiastically.

"Too bad." He moans and I laugh, wrapping my arms around his waist. "It's just a few more days, remember?"

"You're horrible. What kind of monster am I marrying?" he asks, putting the empty plate down on a nearby end table.

"One that knows you too well," I answer with a shrug. "I'd like to feel bad about it, but I've got to get my kicks in somehow, right?"

"At my expense? I thought I was the love of your life. This is how you treat the man you're going to spend eternity with?"

"So it would seem. Just be glad that I'm on _your_ side, buddy."

His eyebrow quirks up, a smile lifting his cheeks. "That's a fair point. I can't imagine how you treat your enemies." He tickles my sides suddenly, making me burst out laughing as I squirm. "How about now? Huh? Huh?"

"No way!"

He gives up without much of a fight, instead wrapping his arms around me. "I suppose I can wait. After all, it's just a few more days."

"Right," I answer with a sigh, resting my cheek against his chest. My eyes flutter shut and I'm aware that it wouldn't take much for me to fall asleep standing up.

"Will you tell me now?" I chuckle, shaking my head. "How about now?"

* * *

A/N…I'm completely garbage, you guys. I went out of town recently and had to do a million and a half things to get ready, then I had to actually emotionally recover from the trip because it was absolute crap and so soul crushing…ugh. Anyway, my mind wasn't on this story at all. However, I think I'm nearly done writing it, so whee! I'm just working on the last chapter right now and keeping my fingers crossed that I can write it the way I've been picturing it in my head for a year now. Probably won't happen because it'll actually be damn near impossible to write it that way but we'll see what happens.

I remember someone (can't remember who; could be a couple of someones, honestly) mentioning something about all the picture taking being too much or kinda goofy. I know this. However, I have an obsession with pictures and cataloging moments, and it's bound to come out somehow in my writing. Seemed to fit well with this story, so I went with it. However, it's completely your call to not enjoy that aspect. At any rate, I wanted you guys to know that I hear what you're saying, and thanks for reading it anyway.

I'm still dealing with lack of internet at home, so that's why everything is so sporadic right now, and I don't know when that'll change, unfortunately. At least McDonald's has free WiFi, amiright?

Geez, guys, thank you so much for sticking with me for so damn long with this one. I can only hope that it's been worth it so for, and that it'll be worth it in the end. You guys rock my fucking socks off.

Also, I'm not ignoring anyone writing stories—I swear. I got caught up in Star Wars for a while. The new movie coming out last December was pretty huge in my geeky little world, so I've been floating in that fandom for some time. It's hard to pull myself out of it, but I'm trying.


	43. Chapter 43

_Love is that can't eat, can't sleep, reach for the stars, over the fence, World Series kinda stuff._

* * *

My heart is pounding against my ribcage. Butterflies are flapping around my stomach so forcefully that I feel like they're going to pop out of it any moment. I relax my hands, realizing they've been clenched yet again, and shake them out. I close my eyes and take deep breaths, but nothing seems to be helping.

Why am I so nervous? I thought only people who have doubts about getting married were nervous on their wedding days.

Turns out, I was very wrong about that.

I am scared blind. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I want to marry Chandler. I'm more certain of it than I have ever been of anything else in my entire life. Forever with him will not be long enough, but still…I'm scared.

Logically, I know it's okay to be nervous on your wedding day. It's a huge event—you're promising to spend the rest of your life with another person. It's kind of a big deal. I know a lot of people jump into it haphazardly then end it just as quickly, but I'm only going to do this once.

I'd say I'm nervous because I'm officially going to be part of his family—Katie's stepmom until the paperwork goes through in another couple of weeks—but that doesn't feel like the reason. I'm already her mom. My name on her birth certificate doesn't change a thing for her.

I do know I'm a little twitchy because we had to spend last night apart. Well, I suppose we didn't _have_ to, but the moment we said that we were planning to be together the night before our wedding, nearly everyone had a conniption fit, telling us that it was bad luck. We both rolled our eyes at that—not that we're so arrogant as to think that nothing bad could happen to us at this point, but more that it wouldn't be related to us seeing each other before we got married. However, it wound up being easier to just go along with it instead of fighting everyone.

So, last night, after our small but lovely rehearsal dinner, Katie and I stayed at the beach house with Rachel, Phoebe, and the rest of my family, and Chandler stayed in a hotel a few miles away with Joey, Mike, and for part of the evening, Ross. It was only the second time in almost a year that we've spent the night apart, and while it wasn't nearly as traumatic as the first time, I still can't say that I cared for it. I slept, but not spectacularly. At least Katie seemed to handle it well, but I'm sure it's easier on her when Mommy and Daddy part on good terms instead of in the middle of a fight.

I sigh, opening my eyes to look out the window in front of me. I can only see part of our "venue" from here, but I can see guests being ushered down the stairs at our neighbors' houses. I feel a little irritation fill me—the wedding is supposed to start at five and with only a few minutes to go and people just now showing up, we're going to wind up starting late. It's a wedding—why can't people just be on time?

I take another deep breath and try to push away the irritation. It'll be all right. The wedding can start late and it's not that big of a deal. Maybe there was traffic on the way out here. Maybe it's taking longer because everyone has to be led carefully down the steep stairs to the beach. As long as Chandler's at the other end of the aisle, it's all good.

At least the weather cleared up. It's been all right in New York, but here it's been raining most of the week. Naturally. I'd get married in the rain if need be, or we could have just had the ceremony inside the house somehow, but I was still disappointed that I wouldn't get to have the wedding I'd pictured in my head for so long. Late yesterday afternoon, though, the rain petered out, turning first to a drizzle, then a fine mist before evaporating all together. This morning dawned clear and bright, and the sky has been a gorgeous, cloudless blue all day. Everything dried out and the temperature is surprisingly warm for this time of year.

As far as actual days go, I couldn't ask for one more perfect.

I haven't been allowed to leave the house all day which, admittedly, has been driving me a little crazy. My mom got people to come here to do nails and hair, and everything went alarmingly smoothly. One of the photographers has been taking pictures of us all day, somehow staying out of the way of everyone and everything go on around her. Her business partner has been with Chandler since early this morning, and one they brought in for the day has been getting pictures of anything else we might want to see.

Part of me feels like things are going too well—I'm sure that's part of my anxiety, too. Everything is running so smoothly right now that I feel like it can't possibly last. I keep reminding myself that as long as Chandler and I actually get to say, "I do," it doesn't matter what else happens. So far, though…perfect. The bridesmaids dresses are stunning, the house looks amazing, and my parents' backyard, along with the neighbors' yards on either side, have been transformed into our reception area. I wasn't allowed to put my dress on until less than an hour ago, even though that's the part I've been waiting for for weeks. But the photographer got great shots of everyone helping me into the dress and of my mother tearing up when I was finally in it. We waited as long as we could to put Katie in her dress, all of us aware that she could do any number of unspeakable things to it to ruin it in about a minute and a half. We actually have a back-up dress for her, just in case, and we'll let her run around for a while, but we'll probably stick her in her play clothes sooner rather than later.

I look over my shoulder, smiling as I see Katie being thoroughly entertained by her aunts and my mother. None of them will let me hold her before the wedding, and I wouldn't be surprised if I don't get to hold her much after the ceremony, either. As much as my arms ache to hold my little girl, I am quite aware that she could make a huge mess all over my dress before any of us could blink. At least I got to cuddle her for a long time before either of us got dressed, and that'll have to hold me for a while. Poor Chandler hasn't seen her at all today.

"No. Me do it."

I sigh, shaking my head. Almost like magic, Katie started using sentences. Not big ones, but words started clicking in her brain and she's been able to state her opinions quite clearly, constantly insisting that _she_ can do things. "Me do it" is a sentence Chandler and I hear at least a dozen times a day. She may be tiny and not even two years old, but she's certain that she can do anything better than the rest of us. I feel like her teenage years are going to be horrific.

"Hi, Mama," she says, giving me her mega-watt smile, and I melt completely.

"Hi, Katie," I answer, grinning back at her.

"Hi, Mama." The wedding dress thing still fascinates her. It's like she has to constantly make sure that it's actually me and not some imposter. It's a good thing she can't _really_ talk yet, because she would have told her father all about the dress.

I can hear music filtering in from the speakers that have been set up everywhere, and I smile a little to myself. Finding a band that we both liked within our timeframe wound up being impossible. We ended up with a DJ, but I think it'll work out for the best. This guy seems to know his stuff, has more equipment than I could ever hope to recognize, and double-checked our specific song requests at least half a dozen times, including sending us a list last night. I've heard horror stories about DJs who just use wedding receptions to display their playlist skills or who don't know how to let one song fade into another or who play too many line dances too early in the night. He came to us highly recommended, sent us links to his YouTube account so we could verify his abilities, and even came to the rehearsal last night to make any last minute adjustments. We're doing a few things that aren't quite traditional, but it's a wedding on the beach—it should be fun. Besides; it's _our_ day, and we should get to do what makes us happy. If walking down the aisle to something other than the Wedding March is what we want to do, then by God, it's what we're going to do.

I glance down at myself, smoothing down the material of my dress. I'm pretty happy with the one I picked. It's much simpler than one Chandler saw, but it's still gorgeous. And actually, it's not nearly as simple as it looks. Just glancing at it, it looks quite elegant, and while no one would actually ever call it plain, compared to some of the others I tried on, it would probably fall into that category. It's deceptively elaborate, though. It doesn't have yards and yards of lace and tulle, but it has intricate beadwork and delicate stitching, and the fabric actually seems to shimmer, almost glow, in even the dimmest of lights. It's light, the material swirls around my legs, and it feels like the exact thing one should wear for a beach wedding. I'm just hoping it gets the same reaction out of my husband-to-be as the last one did.

 _Husband-to-be_. With that thought, I feel my nerves kick in again and I look back through the window. Guests are still being seated, but I know it can't be much longer now.

My hands start to shake and I grab at the curtain in front of me under the guise of pulling it to the side. I'm sure everyone has noticed that I'm trembling from head to toe, but they've been kind enough to not say anything so far.

God! Why am I so nervous right now? This is ridiculous. Chandler and I are meant to be. I've loved him almost as long as I've known him. Hell, we've basically been behaving like a married couple for almost a year at this point. I know actually tying the knot is different than living together, but if shacking up is any indication, marriage is going to be amazing.

I guess it's just that it seems like it all happened so fast.

I pause my train of thought, shaking my head. That's not my voice I'm hearing right now; it's the voice of people I don't know all that well. I've had more than one person ask me why we're getting married when we haven't even been together for a year and a half. They think it's too soon and that we're rushing into it. Honestly, I don't know why anyone thinks it's their business, but I suppose it's a valid question. I don't feel like we're rushing, though. We're doing this on _our_ timetable, not anyone else's. It's right for us and that's all that matters. I think people just get bogged down by what they see on TV or something. They expect things to go in a certain order, and that each phase of a relationship will take a certain length of time. We don't have sweeps week in real life. We don't have to have big moments at pre-designated times of the year for ratings busters. We didn't have to say "I love you" in February or be together for a year or two years to get engaged, then wait another year to get married just so that'll be the season finale, too. This isn't like when a character gets pregnant at the end of one season and doesn't deliver until the end of the next. It's real life—it happens when we want it to, for the most part.

We could have waited to get married and spent a year planning it, but I didn't see the point. Neither did Chandler, not when it came down to it. The more time spent planning means the more money we'd spend on it. If it was just the two of us, I'm sure things would have gone in a very different direction. But with Katie…wasting tons of money on a one-day celebration seems wildly irresponsible. That's money that can go to her and her future. That's money we can spend on a house someday. So, getting married after just a few months of planning in what has ended up being a fairly simply event felt like the best choice. Given a year to plan, I could have come up with a million different things to piss away our savings on—I'm sure of it. But I've also read a million different articles from people who wish they'd saved the wedding money and put it toward something else.

And still…when it comes down to it, it's our day. This is what we want and how we want it.

My phone buzzes on the windowsill, and I grin when I see Chandler's face flash on the screen. I tap into it and a message pops up.

 _Soon._

My body instantly relaxes. He always has that ability. I type out my response.

 _Not soon enough._

A couple of moments later a picture shows up, and I know he's standing downstairs, looking out one of the windows, too. He has a great view of the backyard and top of the stairs. I take a picture out the window and send it to him, letting him know we're on the same page.

 _I love you_.

My grin widens.

 _I love you, too. See you on the other side._

He sends me silly little heart emoji and it occurs to me that this is one of the things that people who are questioning our "haste" just don't understand. Somehow, he knew that I needed to hear from him. He always knows it. He's not just my lover, he's my friend. He's my best friend. That's what makes this so special. True, we started out as two people who couldn't stop staring at each other and whose chemistry was through the roof, but we managed to become friends, too. We spent time getting to know all of the stupid, mundane things about each other, we goof around together, we hang out sometimes and not just date. We're friends, which I think can be rare. We're partners in every sense of the word. He makes me laugh. I'm comfortable with him and around him in a way that's more than the intimacy that comes with romance. I don't feel like we've lost anything because of that, and I certainly don't feel that I'm marrying someone for companionship. I'm marrying Chandler because he's everything I could possibly want in another person and so much more.

I put my phone back on the sill, jumping when I realize everyone is staring at me. "What?"

"Chandler?" my mother asks teasingly.

I roll my eyes playfully. "How could you tell?" The photographer turns her camera to me so I can see the screen, and for the first time, I get to see the goofy look on my face when he messages me. "Oh, God. Why didn't anyone ever tell me how I stupid I look?" Seriously—the smile on my face in these pictures is ridiculous.

"I think it's perfect," she answers, turning the camera on me once more.

I'm saved from myself when I hear footsteps on the stairs, and a tap on the door moment later. Phoebe pulls it open and Ross, Mike, and my dad poke their heads in, silently asking for permission before stepping into the room. If they're up here, that means that Joey is probably getting into place at the altar, our officiate for the day. He was a real life saver with that idea, too. We were going to have the numbers uneven—even though Ross has been a jerk to Chandler at times, Chandler was still going to let him be a part of the ceremony—but finding someone to actual marry us seemed like it was going to be the most difficult part of the whole affair. When Joey offered to do it for us, we wondered why it took us so long to think of it. A lot of people are having their friends perform the wedding ceremonies nowadays because who knows you better? I'm sure there are a lot of people out there who get married by priests, but this just made more sense for us. Granted, he knows Chandler better than me, but we spent a lot of time together, too. It was the perfect solution.

Another thought hits me, nearly knocking me off my feet. If these guys are up here and if Joey's getting into place…I start for the window but hands grab at me, tugging me back.

"Just wait a few more minutes," Phoebe tells me, surprisingly stern. "You've come this far."

"I can't watch him walk down the aisle?" I ask, my voice startlingly petulant.

"No time," Ross answers.

"There's time," I protest. "The walk downstairs isn't going to take _that_ long."

"Do you really want to lose?" Rachel asks, and I whip my head around to her.

"What?"

"Don't you want to prove to yourself that you can wait until you see him at the end of the aisle? If you look now, that'll be cheating."

"I hate that you know me so well," I answer, but I stay put.

Another head pokes into the room—one of the coordinators we hired for the day. As much as I hated to relinquish control, I also knew that I didn't want to have to worry about all of the tiny, last minute details today, so we hired a couple of people to keep things running smoothly. The piece of mind was well worth the cost. She holds up a finger, listening to her earpiece for a moment before smiling. "I think we're ready."

The butterflies start up again, but this time out of excitement. I realize then that I haven't been anxious about getting married; I've been anxious because I'm ready to be married. I want the wedding, but I really can't wait for marriage. I can't wait for it with Chandler. I can't wait for it all with Chandler and Katie.

My perfect little family.

It's time.

* * *

A/N…guys, I'm seriously almost done with this story. I know it's taken me about a million years to write this but it's really close to being finished. I was so worried about writing the end of this story but...it's going really well. At some point, I'll learn to stop thinking about it so much and just effing write. That always seems to work best for me. Some people need to plan out the whole story or paper (I remember teachers encouraging that in school), but that's never worked for me. Just writing is the coolest and very effective. But anyway, I still need to go over and over this stuff to make sure it doesn't have any dumb errors (it will anyway, but I can try to keep it to a minimum). Also, I'm without that whole internet thing still, which blows at times, so it's still tough to get stuff uploaded at times. We'll get there, though.

Also, I still can't thank everyone enough for sticking with me through all of this. You're good people, and it honestly means the world to me.

One more thing—the song you'll need next time is "Marry You" by Bruno Mars. You don't technically _have_ to listen to it while reading the chapter, but I feel it'll add to the experience.


	44. Chapter 44

_Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get—only with what you are expecting to give—which is everything._

* * *

I hear our own "wedding march" start up and grin, ignoring the chuckles around me. I don't care how cliché the song is, once the idea popped into my head, I couldn't let it go. Lucky for me, Chandler didn't mind. It's not as if we're doing a flash mob down through the crowd. We're just using different musical cues.

The coordinator ushers us downstairs, lining us up in the backyard. I know Chandler's probably most of the way down the aisle by now, probably just dropping off his parents. Phoebe and Mike will head down next, with Phoebe carrying Katie. We knew she wouldn't be able to handle the steps on her own, but she liked being with her aunt and uncle. Technically, she's the flower girl, but realistically we know that she'll probably just stand at the top of the aisle, confused, and drop the flower basket before crying. That's why Phoebe's sticking with her. Hopefully, having someone she knows nearby will prevent a meltdown. What we're really hoping for is for her to be excited instead of scared. We've played this song for a her a million times, both of us singing and dancing around to it in the hopes that she'll be willing to cooperate.

Really, though, there's no such thing as actually training a two-year-old.

The coordinator's staring at her clipboard, waiting for the next cue, so I hurry up to my daughter and throw caution to the wind. I pull her into my arms and give her a big hug. "I love you, Katie," I whisper, feeling her wrap her little body around mine.

"Okay, Mama," she answers. I'm pretty sure that's Katie-speak for, "me, too."

"Be a good girl," I tell her, pulling back to make eye contact with her. Mike and Phoebe start walking toward the stairs and I follow, much to the chagrin of everyone's carefully laid plans. "You get to see Daddy in a minute, okay?"

"Okay."

I kiss her cheek and pass her back to Phoebe just in time. "Go dance, baby."

"Bye-bye, Mama," she answers, waving at me clumsily. I take my place in line again, already feeling better.

Ross and Rachel break out of line, both of them hugging me at once. I'm sure the coordinator has to be ready to throw her clipboard at the lot of us right now. Neither of them say anything, though—they just squeeze me tight before getting back in place. I know we're all right on time because we planned on Katie needing a few extra beats to get into place.

An eternity later, my brother heads down the aisle with my childhood friend and I start to bounce up and down impatiently. My parents are going to head down the stairs first with me pulling up the rear. The three of us couldn't fit down together at the same time, but they're going to wait for me at the foot of the stairs so we can finish the walk together.

"Calm down, Monica," my mother says, putting her hand on my arm.

"I just want to get married," I answer.

My dad turns around; he doesn't say anything, but he smiles at me sadly. My eyes fill with tears and I look away. For the most part, he's been handling all of this very calmly. He's been his usual, blustery self, not asking a lot of questions and staying out of the way. The last few days, though, have been hitting him hard. I guess something clicked, and he's been mentioning that I'm a grownup now. I suppose it's always hard letting your kids go.

I get myself under control and smile up at him. I reach out and squeeze his hand, watching his smile broaden. "We'll see you down there," he says softly , and just like that, they're out of sight.

I mumble along to the song under my breath, trying to picture where everyone is. If we're lucky, Phoebe and Mike are already in place, Katie hopefully situated on someone's lap, with Ross and Rachel not too far behind.

I start to feel antsy. I know it's just a matter of seconds, and I know that I do kind of want that big moment where he sees me for the first time, but I also really want to see him. I don't even know what he's wearing. I know they're not wearing tuxedos, which I fought for a long time. Rachel was the one that picked out their clothes. I know that she has really great taste and style, and working in the fashion industry for years means she definitely has a leg up on this over me. She showed me endless amounts of pictures from different weddings—both real and staged, some very formal and some not—to help me understand that not every wedding is enhanced by a tuxedo. She promised me that it'd be worth it, that I would love the outcome, and that they wouldn't be wearing jeans and t-shirts. She showed me a small palette of colors for approval, and I know that whatever they're wearing falls somewhere in there. Honestly, even though I was just with Ross and Mike, I have no idea what they're wearing. I couldn't even say if anyone is actually wearing clothes. Missed my chance, it seems.

The coordinator hands me my bouquet, giving me a smile. "You ready?"

I blink at her a few times in surprise before I nod. This is it. This is really it. I take my bouquet and pause, waiting for my cue. I glance over at her and she nods and I move into place, standing at the top of the stairs. They're not terribly steep, but I'm up high enough to see the entire crowd. I feel a little bit of relief. One of the things that Chandler and I asked was for our guests to "unplug." We've asked them not take pictures with their cell phones during the ceremony. We didn't want a sea of phone cases and no people in our wedding photos. I've heard about guests actually standing in the aisle to get a shot, and I'm pretty sure I'd kick anyone who did that.

I scan the crowd, my eyes landing on Chandler a moment later. I can't make out all the details from here, but I can tell that he looks amazing.

The coordinator clears her throat and I grab onto the rail, forcing myself to take the careful, deliberate steps in time with the music I practiced yesterday. The last thing I want to do is get my heels caught in the stairs and go tumbling.

My heart flutters as I reach the bottom of the stairs, our guests rising to their feet. I feel my parents flank me but all I can see is Chandler, waiting for me.

I grin as I walk toward him, the music, amazingly, perfectly timed, and he looks like he's struggling not to cry. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hope one of the photographers got his face when he first saw me. I've seen a lot of really amazing pictures of grooms seeing their brides for the first time, and honestly, I'm curious to know his reaction.

My heart thumps in my chest again and I force myself not to run down the aisle. I want to. I'm so ready for this.

We were right, though—all the stress and exhaustion and hard work over the last few months are worth it. We're not even married yet, but this moment is perfect. It may not be what I've always imagined but it's what I've always wanted.

My parents pause and I realize we've reached the altar. Already. I can hear them saying something to me and I feel them kiss my cheeks, but all I can see is _him_.

The only thing that matters.

"Hi, Mama."

I look over my shoulder and smile at Katie, nestled on her grandmother's lap. Well, he's _one_ of the only things that matter.

I blow her a little kiss before I turn back to Chandler; he's grinning at Katie, too. A moment later, he turns back to me, and I feel everything else drift away. He takes a couple of steps down toward me and I realize my parents are already gone. I try to focus—I want to be able to remember everything, but I feel like it's a lost cause. I hope the video turns out all right because I'm sure I'll need a refresher at some point.

Chandler's fingers lace through mine and my heart gives another _thump_. "Wow," he whispers.

I pause just another moment to take him in. Rachel was right; he didn't need a tux today. He looks unbelievably amazing in gray trousers and a matching vest. His shirt isn't stark white—it's ivory, to match my dress, and his blue tie matches Phoebe and Rachel's dresses perfectly. "You, too," I finally answer. Side by side, we walk back to the altar, and I feel the fluttering in my stomach start up again just as the music fades out.

Definitely excited.

I don't know if I could get it that perfectly timed again if I tried, either.

Joey grins at us, hopping up and down with excitement. He's been working on his speech for weeks, and while he's run a lot of it by us, neither of us have gotten to hear the final draft. I can't imagine what he's managed to come up with.

I hear the people behind us settle into their chairs, and Joey gives us another smile before looking out over the crowd.

"'True love is the best thing in the world. Except for cough drops.'" Everyone chuckles and he grins sheepishly. "That was from The Princess Bride. I don't know—it might be true. What I _do_ know is that we're here today to celebrate with Chandler and Monica as they promise to spend the rest of their lives together. I can't imagine a more perfect day or a more perfect place for these two to get married." Chandler grins at me and squeezes my hand, and it's only then that I realize we're still holding onto each other. I squeeze his fingers in return, refusing to let go. "I've been lucky—I've gotten to see their entire relationship, and I can tell all of you that two people have never been more in love than the two standing in front of me. I've known Chandler for years—" He pauses, clearing his throat, and I feel a tear prickle the corner of my eye. "He's the best friend a guy could ask for. We've been through a lot together. I've watched him become a father, and that was really cool. He didn't think he could do it, but I always knew he'd be all right. If anyone ever had any doubt, all they have to do is look at how happy Katie is."

"Hi, Joe," she answers, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing too hard. To the best of my knowledge, she's never said "Joe" before, but it seems like an appropriate moment. Everyone behind us laughs, too, making Katie giggle and clap her hands.

"I knew that when Chandler and Monica agreed to let me be the one to perform the ceremony, I couldn't do it alone. I'm not the only person who has been a part of this. So, I asked the people you see standing up here with them, the people that know Monica and Chandler better than anyone else in the world."

Chandler and I blink at each other in surprise, automatically turning to look at the faces of the friends surrounding us. They all grin back at us broadly, looking very pleased with themselves.

"We kind of had a theme. I asked them to give me some ideas of what they thought best described these two, and everyone came up with a quote from a book."

I'm starting to realize that the bits and pieces he told me and Chandler must have been some sort of decoy, but everything he's saying right now…I don't know if it could be more perfect.

"'You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.' Well, I've been watching Chandler stay awake for more than a year now. I remember him coming back to our apartment last winter in a daze. He told me he'd met some girl, and all he could say about her was that she was perfect. They went on their first date a few days later, and after that, it was like he was lost in a fog. He'd stare at his phone as he waited for her to call or answer a text, he'd smile like an idiot every time he talked about her or even thought about her. I knew right from the beginning that he was gonna marry this woman. Now, I wasn't there for Monica's end, but Rachel told me that Monica did the same thing, and that Rachel knew it then, too. It's funny how you can meet a million different people and no one ever notices, but if you're lucky, you get to meet that one person that lights you up inside and the whole world can tell."

I stare at Joey in disbelief through watery eyes. I had no idea he had something like this in him. I think I could stand up here for hours and listen to him talk. I glance over at Chandler, and he has the same stunned look on his face. I give his fingers a squeeze and he answers in kind, smiling at me out of the corner of his mouth.

"'When you trip over love, it is easy to get up. But when you fall in love, it is impossible to stand again.' I think that's only partly true, because I don't know if Chandler and Monica could stand on their own anymore, but together…they hold each other up. They're strong together, stronger than they ever could be apart. They fit together like a puzzle, and they have since the first time I saw them together. And I knew he was serious about her because he let her meet his daughter after dating for two months, but I don't think he could have found a better woman to be in Katie's life. She loves Monica, probably since the beginning, too. It says a lot about a person if you're willing to trust your kid with her, and now, you'd never know that Monica hasn't been with them since the beginning."

I feel a tap on my arm and turn to see Rachel holding a hankie for me. I take it gratefully, carefully dabbing at my face. I really wasn't expecting this. There's no way we could have gotten something like this from some priest that neither of us know. I look over at Chandler and reach out to dry his face, too. He chuckles a little but lets me dry him before sticking the handkerchief in his pocket for safekeeping. Our hands find each other again—I have a brief, dissociative moment where I can't understand how I'm still holding onto my bouquet, but I let it go. It'll have to remain one of life's great mysteries.

"'She wasn't doing a thing that I could see, except standing there, leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together.' I gotta admit, that one was from Mike. He's kind of the most poetic one of the bunch." The audience titters at that, and I can see Mike smiling at us over Chandler's shoulder. "To be honest, I didn't know where to go with it, either, but all I could think about was how Chandler told me that meeting Monica wasn't anything special. He almost burned her with coffee after bumping into her. But I guess that's what this means—you don't have to be doing anything in particular to meet the love of your life. Sometimes it just happens, and it's nothing to write home about, but you know it anyway. You know that this person in front of you is what's going to keep your world together, even if all she's doing is standing in line behind you, waiting for coffee. Sometimes it's that easy, and maybe we miss out on those things because we're so busy looking for the big moments. I mean, what would have happened if Chandler had done something as simple as turn the other way? He never would have bumped into Monica, and we wouldn't be here right now, celebrating their special day. Maybe it's all meant to be, or maybe it's all an accident, but it's those small moments that we have to keep an eye out for. We have to make sure we're looking for the right things before they slip by us. Monica and Chandler are lucky because they had their moment and they held on with both hands. They were smart; they didn't let it go."

"Since when did he get so eloquent?" Chandler breathes, his voice just loud enough for me to hear. I feel my eyebrow quirk in response; I honestly have no idea.

"'Every true love and friendship is a story of unexpected transformation. If we are the same person before and after we loved, that means we haven't loved enough.' I can say, without a doubt, that Chandler isn't the same person he was before he met Monica. He's changed, and it hasn't all been in big ways. He was never very confident with girls—" Chandler groans a little, closing his eyes in embarrassment, but I just tickle his palm. "—but being with Monica changed that. Not that he started hitting on every woman he found after that. That's not what I mean. But it was like he knew that he'd found this fantastic woman and none of that other stuff mattered. He became the guy that she could fall in love with, not because Monica asked him to change, but because she made him want to be the best possible version of himself. I can also tell you that Monica has changed since I first met her. Back then, she was real nervous about being in a relationship with someone who has a kid. I guess I can't blame her because that's a big deal. But she stepped up. She knew that little girl needed her and she relaxed and stopped fighting happiness." I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to contain myself. I don't know if I was that obvious from the beginning or if some of this is coming from what Rachel and Phoebe have told him. Still, I feel a little ashamed that I almost missed out on the greatest thing to ever happen to me because I wasn't sure if I was ready to be a part of Katie's life. "I think they've both grown up in some ways, but they've also made each other goofier. I've never seen two people laugh and joke around as much as they do. I think that, together, they became the people they were meant to be."

Judging by all the sniffles I can hear behind me, I'd say Joey's words have gotten to quite a few people.

"Well," Joey says, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "I guess you guys have probably heard enough from me." The crowd laughs, the mood shifting back to lighthearted. "Monica and Chandler decided to write their own vows. Monica?" He smiles at us and I finally let go of Chandler's hand and turn to Rachel, handing off my bouquet as she passes me my vows. She gives my hand a little squeeze before I look back to my fiancé, the smile he's wearing nearly breaking his face.

I take a deep breath and look at my notes, but all the words seem blurry. "I struggled with this for a long time. I thought about it and thought about it but…how could I possibly put into words what I feel for you? 'I love you' just isn't enough. I can tell you that you're the love of my life and even though it's true, it's not enough. You're just…you're everything. I waited for you all my life, and I'm just sorry it took me so long to get here. Forever with you won't be long enough. You've given me everything I've always wanted. Thank you for never giving up on me. I can't wait for the next part of our journey together. I…I love you." I shrug, a million different thoughts and feelings crowding my head and not one of them can escape. It wasn't eloquent, and it certainly wasn't what I wrote, but it was definitely the only thing I could say at that moment.

"Chandler," Joey says softly, trying not to break the moment.

"Monica," he says, never taking his eyes off me. "I never expected to find someone like you. I never thought I'd be so lucky as to find someone crazy enough to love me. I had actually started to think that I would never meet anyone good enough for Katie." He glances over at our daughter, smiling at her radiantly before turning back to me. "But, I did. How did I get so lucky? How did the world know to send you to me when it did? You've made me happier than I ever thought possible. I know I'm not perfect, and I can admit that you're not, either, but together…we are. We're perfect together. You're everything I've ever needed, and a few things extra. Thank you for loving me, for taking care of me, for putting up with me…and thank you for being the mother Katie always needed." Everything inside of me clenches as I struggle not to sob, but Chandler just pulls the hankie out of his pocket and dabs at my face for me. " _We_ love you, and we're so happy that you chose us."

It takes all the willpower that I possess to not throw myself into his arms right now.

There's a pause and we both look over at Joey, who's smiling at us dreamily, like a puppy seeing his first butterfly. I glance at Chandler out of the corner of my eye and he's struggling not to break into laughter. "Hey, Joe," he whispers. " _Joe_!"

"Huh? Oh! Yeah—sorry. Uh…now for the rings." I laugh a little as I turn back to my bridesmaids. Both of them have tears in their eyes as they laugh, too, and Phoebe takes my vows from me as Rachel gives me Chandler's ring. "Okay, Monica," Joey says as Chandler and I face each other once more, "repeat after me: With this ring, I thee wed."

Chandler holds up his hand, stopping me before I can even start, and I feel my stomach collapse in on itself. Did he change his mind? Just like that? My heart starts to race but he just smiles at me reassuringly. "Something's missing."

My ring? Did someone misplace that? "I don't need a ring to get married," I whisper to him, but he shakes his head.

"No, but we do need Katie." He takes a couple of steps down to his mother, holding his arms out for our daughter. She goes to him willingly, though even she looks a little baffled. Chandler grins at me, Katie on his hip, and he nods. "Okay. Go ahead."

My brain finally catches up. Of course. We should do this as a family. It's so blindingly simple and obvious that I can't believe I never thought about it. I smile at Katie, who scrunches up her body and laughs. Chandler holds out his hand and I slide the band in place, already admiring just how perfect it looks there. "With this ring, I thee wed." Katie laughs again, clapping her hands. I know it's almost definitely not on purpose for the occasion, but it's cute anyway.

Chandler takes the ring from Mike and Joey says, "Repeat after me: With this ring, I thee wed."

"Me do it!" Katie demands, trying to take the ring from her father. The crowd bursts into laughter. "Me do it!"

"How about we do it together?" Chandler suggests, keeping a tight grip on the ring even as he brings it up so that Katie can hold it, too. I lift my hand so that Katie can reach it and, with Chandler guiding it, they both manage to get it into place. "With this ring, _we_ thee wed."

Yep—I'm done. The tears I've been able to keep to a slow trickle through the entire ceremony nearly explode out of me. I lean forward and kiss Katie's cheek, hoping I'm not scaring her. "Hi, Mama," she says, her little fingers gently grabbing my hair.

"Hi, honey," I whisper. "I promise that I'll love you forever and that I'll always be your mommy."

"Okay, Mama," she answers, and I let myself believe that she said it on purpose.

I take a step back and look at Chandler, smiling broadly when I realize that he's, essentially, my husband. We're almost there. He digs the hankie out of his pocket again, drying my face once more, before he stows it away, his hand reaching for mine. I hold onto Chandler with one hand and Katie with the other.

"Monica," Joey says, struggling to look composed, though he can't stop smiling, either. "Do you take Chandler to be your husband?"

We talked about having the whole spiel, the "to have and to hold" and so on, but when it came down to it, we didn't need that. Just one simple question is enough—we felt that all the other questions were implied in the role of "husband" or "wife."

"I do."

"Chandler, do you take Monica to be your wife?"

"I do. _We_ do," he answers, jiggling Katie a little.

"Me do," she says, appropriately enough, though she probably thinks she's correcting Chandler in an entirely different way.

"Katie does, too," he answers, properly chastised. "Should have answered for her first. Sorry."

Everyone laughs again, and Chandler and I both kiss her cheeks before he squats down, gently putting her on the sand. "Go to Grandma, baby." With some difficulty, she makes her way back to Nora, and I shake my head as I realize she's not wearing her shoes. Though, I suppose it could be worse. She's still dressed, clean, and she hasn't had a tantrum, so I count it as a win.

We take each other's hands, both of us bopping up and down a little with excitement. We did it. We actually did it.

"Well, with the power vested in me by the state of Connecticut, I now pronounce you husband and wife." He smiles so hard that I think his face is actually going to split in two. "Kiss her."

"Kiss!" Katie exclaims as she claps her hands. She definitely knows what kisses are and demands them regularly. Everyone laughs and Nora kisses the top of her head.

Chandler takes a step forward and pulls me into his arms. A moment later, our lips meet and I sink into him, my arms wrapping around him, too. I hear the people behind us break out into wild applause, and Chandler holds me tighter, smiling against my lips.

We pull apart slowly, everyone still clapping, and smile at each other.

"Hi," I whisper, an interesting combination of giddiness and peace washing over me.

"What's happening, wife?" he whispers back, winking at me jauntily.

"Oh, my God."

Before he can answer, Joey gives us a little nudge and we disentangle ourselves, exchanging one more quick kiss before we turn to face everyone. Our hands find each other and as one, we lift them in the air, triumphantly. I vaguely hear music playing in the background and remember that we picked a recessional song, too, though I'll be damned if I remember what it is now.

Chandler brings our joined hands to his mouth and kisses my knuckles before we step off the altar. The people around us are a blur as we make our way back up the aisle. I can still hear applause, but everything has faded to a gentle, background hum.

* * *

*A/N…seriously, this chapter was ridiculously long to begin with. I had to break it into more manageable pieces. Even still, this is really long. Hell, I just did a word count on the final chapter, and it's almost 10,000 words. I mean, seriously? I might have to find a way to make it into two pieces. Sheesh.

I think I got the wedding right in this one. I remember getting a bit emotional while writing it. When I came up with the idea of using quotes at the beginning of each chapter, I realized I was going to have too many, so I decided to use them here, and I'm actually in love with the way it came out.

If you didn't read this, at least the processional part, while listening to Marry You (Bruno Mars), please do it. I think it enhances the experience. I know that sounds weird, but I listened to it a _lot_ while writing this part of the story, so give it a shot.

On a personal note, I've been a little mentally fucked up since the whole Orlando incident. I imagine you all heard about it. It's been absolutely breaking my heart, and it seems that the idiots who live in my country feel that being able to own assault weapons is automatically more important than people. They're willing to restrict and ban anything that has to do with women's reproductive rights, and want to create laws to make these things illegal, but the moment a bunch of people are slaughtered by a gun, they say that we're trying to take away their rights. I'm just frustrated with my country, and am seriously considering defecting to another country. If Trump wins in November, I'll be joining the EU, even if the UK decided to leave it. At any rate, there's nothing quite like seeing people check in on Facebook to let you know they're safe. I'm sure a lot of you know that feeling, after Belgium and Paris. This world, man.


	45. Chapter 45

_She knew one hundred little things about him but when he kissed her she couldn't remember her own name._

* * *

I'm _married_. Just like that.

He readjusts his grip on my hand as we start back up the stairs—we have a couple of minutes before anyone follows us. Another one of our few special requests was to just have a few moments to ourselves right after the ceremony—we both felt like we'd just need the time to process. Everyone will be down on the beach, mingling as appetizers are served, while, for the briefest of times, it's just the two of us. One of the photographers is already up there, but that's all right. I'm sure she won't intrude much.

We make it to the top of the stairs and Chandler tugs at my hand, pulling me into the yard and out of sight of the crowd below us. Without warning, he takes me into his arms and spins me around a couple of times, both of us laughing like idiots.

"We're married!" he exclaims. "We're _married_!"

I tighten my arms around him again, squeezing him harder. I don't even know what to say right now. I don't think words would be enough for this moment, either. Instead, I pull back and kiss him, my eyes falling shut as he kisses me back.

We finally come up for air, resting our foreheads against one another as we grin, breathing heavily.

"First things first," he says quietly, gently taking hold of my right hand. He pulls off my engagement ring and I hold up my left hand for him, smiling as he slides the ring back where it belongs. It felt weird having it on the wrong hand, quite honestly, like something was off the whole day.

I hold my hand up, admiring the way my new wedding band looks nestled against my engagement ring. "Perfect," I say, wiggling my fingers for a moment before I grab onto his hands once more.

"Geez, you're tall today," he says suddenly, leaning back to stare at me.

"Oh," I answer with a watery laugh, pulling up the hem of my dress to reveal bright, cherry red heels. "It's kind of amazing that I managed to make it all the way down the aisle and back without breaking my mneck, but I thought special shoes and a pop of color would be nice."

"Those are _so hot_ ," he breathes, his eyes going wide. "Please wear those in bed tonight."

I burst out laughing, giving him a gentle shove. He's such a pig.

He sighs happily and takes a tiny step back, a content look on his face. I reach out and straighten his tie before smoothing down his vest. He really does look incredible right now. "My husband," I whisper, a slight chill breaking out all over my body. "Can this be real?"

He puts his hand over mine and squeezes gently. "If it isn't, I hope I never wake up."

I lean in and kiss him again, gently this time. It doesn't feel real yet.

I can see the photographer out of the corner of my eye, but she's keeping her distance, letting us have this time together. At some point not too long from now, once the sun really starts to set, we'll all be ushered down to the beach so they can take dozens of pictures of us in that light, none of them big on super-posed photos. I was reluctant about that at first, too, but after seeing their work, I decided to trust what they're doing. Besides, I don't know what could be a better memento of this day than us in our wedding clothes on the beach at sunset.

It's impossibly romantic.

"Hey!" he says suddenly. "What about my wedding present?"

"What wedding present?" I ask innocently.

"What wedding…the one you've been torturing me with for a week now!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"We've been married for three minutes and _this_ is how you treat me?" he asks, a mock-wounded look on his face. "Would you really antagonize your _husband_ this way?"

"Just figured I'd give you a taste of what you're in for for the rest of your life," I answer, batting my eyes.

"So…there _isn't_ any gift?" He looks so crestfallen, like his ice cream just fell off the cone and landed on the sidewalk.

"No, there is, but I might have…blown it a little out of proportion. It's nothing big."

"Size doesn't matter," he answers, ignoring my waggling eyebrows. He holds up his hand, gesturing to his new ring. "This isn't exactly huge, either, but it means a whole lot. I don't expect any presents _ever_ , but if you saw something and thought of me…honey, it doesn't matter how big or how small. It just matters that it's from you."

"Well, when you put it that way…" He does have a way with words. He always manages to melt my heart. "Do you want it now?"

"Do you think we have time?" he asks, looking toward the house. "Everyone'll be looking for us before you know it."

"No, I guess there's probably time. Are you sure you don't want to wait, though?"

He gives me a disbelieving look, making me laugh. "You're kidding, right? After you've been holding this over my head for for _ever_ —"

I scoff, rolling my eyes. "I told you less than a week ago, and since then, you're the only one who's brought it up. I haven't mentioned it once."

"Yeah, well, still," he answers, nearly pouting. "You can't drop a bomb on me like that and expect me not to wonder, right?"

"So, that's a no on the waiting?"

His mouth drops open for a moment before he smiles and shakes his head. "If you want to give it to me now, that's awesome. If you want to wait until we have more time, I can wait. I just got married to the love of my life, I don't know that there's anything else I need."

Jerk. Like I haven't cried enough today already.

"All right. I guess now is as good a time as any." He nods and turns toward the house when I grab his hands, pulling him back to me. "I'm pregnant."

A million different things cross his face at one time—I can't pinpoint any one emotion or thought. He stares at me in shock. "You—you're—I'm sorry, what?"

"I'm pregnant," I tell him again, a smile spreading across my face.

He still looks baffled, as if he can't quite comprehend how this could have happened. "But…wha...are you sure?"

"Well, it's what the doctor told me," I answer, squeezing his hands reassuringly.

"You've already been to a doctor?" he breathes, his eyes somehow managing to grow even wider. "When? I mean, how could you possibly have managed it when we've been so busy?"

"It felt kind of important, honey," I tease, taking a step closer to him.

"How long have you known?" he whispers, his eyes darting down to my stomach for just a moment.

"For sure? A few weeks."

"Why did you wait to tell me?"

I shrug—I thought he might wonder about that. "Well, I didn't want to say anything until I'd been to the doctor. With so much going on, I didn't have much concept of time so it didn't occur to me that anything was off. And then…Chandler, I was worried you'd have flashbacks of Corinne. I didn't want that hanging over our wedding day." I was extraordinarily reluctant to bring up anything that might remind him of Corinne, truthfully. So far, it seems that the last and only time I met her, she was just full of hot air. We haven't been contacted by any lawyers about her wanting to reopen the case or that she's at all interested in being a part of Katie's life, but that doesn't mean it's not hanging over us a little most of the time. I don't know if that will ever go away; just because she doesn't have a leg to stand on doesn't mean she can't make our lives miserable. I don't know that I'd put it past her to try. Plus, I had no idea how another unplanned pregnancy would affect Chandler, and I worried that telling him before the wedding might send him into an unnecessary panic. "And I thought that if I told you after we said 'I do,' I'd have you locked in for sure." I throw in that last part to hopefully make him laugh.

Nope—he still looks shocked. No; more flummoxed by this point, as if it's not all computing.

"I thought that it'd make a nice surprise on our wedding day," I whisper, all of my confidence and bravado fading suddenly. Maybe I was mistaken about this. Maybe I _should_ have told him right away. I thought he'd like to hear it on our wedding day, though. A horrible thought washes over me—what if he's not happy at all? What if he thinks I trapped him somehow? What if doesn't want more kids yet, or at all? What if—

He bursts out laughing suddenly. He still looks shocked, but I'd swear there's joy mixed in there, too. "Are you serious?"

"About being pregnant?"

He laughs again, untangling his hands from mine to hold my hips. "Yeah. About being pregnant."

"Of course I am. I wouldn't make up something like that."

"We made a baby?"

Relief floods through me, my heart fluttering madly. "So it would seem."

"And you're sure?"

"Very sure." I grab his hand and put it on my stomach, readjusting it for a few moments until I get to where my belly is just starting to round out. "I can't be a hundred percent positive," I whisper, "because it's still very small, but I think it's been kicking up a storm today. I think it's excited about Mommy and Daddy getting married." My stomach flutters again and I can't help but grin—I really have no idea if it's the baby or me at this point. From what I've read, most of the time, women in their first-time pregnancies don't realize what the kicking is until a little farther along, but this has felt like nothing I've experienced before. There been gentle little ripples low in my stomach all day, and the only thing I can think of is that it's the baby, telling me how happy it is.

"It's kicking?" he breathes, looking stunned all over again. I feel his fingers tighten a little on my stomach and I struggle to control the fresh wave of tears that are suddenly waiting behind my eyes.

"I don't know. Maybe."

His hand moves over me in a gentle circle and he nods, as if he's suddenly aware of the difference in me. It's been subtle, and I certainly don't look _pregnant_ pregnant, but I've noticed some changes in the last few weeks, and I've been eternally grateful that I went with an empire-waist dress instead of something more fitted. The extra room has been an added relief. Chandler has certainly seen me naked in the last few months, but I'm not surprised that he hasn't noticed. We haven't done a lot of the slow exploration of each other's bodies recently that we've done in the past. We both knew that too much foreplay would probably put us to sleep.

"Is that why you've been so tired?" he asks suddenly, eyes still trained on my belly.

"Part of it, definitely," I confirm. "But we have been super crazy-busy planning a wedding, too."

"How did you not fall over?"

"Will power."

He chuckles and finally looks up at me again, tears in his eyes. I grip onto the hand still pressed against my stomach, trying to hold on for just a few more minutes.

"Oh, my God," he whispers.

"I know," I answer, nodding.

"Oh, my _God_!" Without warning, he wraps me in his arms, pulling me into a tight hug. He lets me go an instant later, looking at me in alarm, but I just pull him back into the hug.

"The baby's fine," I reassure him, pressing my face into his chest. "If it can handle Mommy and Daddy's sexcapades, it can handle us hugging."

He laughs into my hair, tightening his arms around me marginally, carefully.

"The baby," he repeats softly, mostly to himself. "Oh, my God, the _baby_." He takes my face in his hands and kisses me, deeply and soundly. Even though my heels are so tall that I'm almost the same height as him, I stand on my tiptoes anyway, trying to get closer. This is better than the kiss we shared at the altar. It feels like it means more. "I can't believe you said you might have blown this out of proportion. Mon, this is _huge_."

"I know, I just…I didn't know how you'd react or what you were expecting, and…hey, you know what? I'm pregnant. I get to blame all of my decisions—irrational and not—on all the hormones."

He laughs, pressing another gentle kiss to my lips. "How?" he whispers against me, both of us reluctant to part for even a moment.

"With all the sex we have, you really have to ask me that?" I tease, holding onto his vest as tightly as I can.

"No, I know _how_ , but how? We've always been so careful."

"The only guarantee is abstinence," I inform him, laughing when he makes a disgusted face. "My thoughts exactly. So, one of your troops got past my front lines and infiltrated the camp."

"Wily little bastard," he says, kissing me again. "Wait—so, how far along are you? Are you okay? Is the baby okay? How do you feel? What can I do?"

I blink at him for a moment before letting out a laugh. "I'm fine, the baby's fine. I've been tired and sometimes nauseated, but it hasn't been too bad. I'm three months along."

He steps back from me, taking me in all over again. "Three months? How did I miss that?"

"The same way I managed to mostly miss it. Neither of us were looking for it or expecting it. But I'm guessing it happened somewhere between the time we had wild, clichéd Valentine's Day sex and we-just-figured-out-where-we're-getting-married sex."

"Wow," he whispers, shaking his head as he steps toward me again, his hand automatically reaching out for my belly again. "All this time, this little nugget has been with us, just hanging out?"

"Pretty much. What a creeper, huh?"

"Total creeper," he agrees. "Our nugget."

I shake my head, but I can already tell it's a lost cause. The baby will probably be "the nugget" until it's born, and quite possibly for a while after.

"Katie's gonna have a little brother or sister," I tell him, and for the first time, that part really hits me. We're expanding our little family.

"She might have a thing or two to say about that," Chandler answers, sniffling just a little.

"Nah, not this time. Maybe about the next one, though."

"The next one?" he gasps, looking almost panicked. "Let's just get through this one first, all right?"

I burst out laughing, reaching out to stroke his cheek reassuringly. "Sure. One baby at a time. Unless, of course, it's twins."

Another flash of panic dashes across his face, but he just swallows and smiles, his body relaxing a little. "Katie's going to be a great big sister."

"Our little girl isn't going to be an only child anymore," I whisper, strange feelings washing over me. "Are you ready for that?"

"Not really," he answers honestly. "But then again, I wasn't ready to have a child the first time, either. I never intended Katie to be the only kid we had, though, and I don't think you did, either. We never had a timetable for more kids, so why not now? We can do it. We can do anything as long as we're together, right?"

"Absolutely," I agree. "Anything."

He nods, leaning down to kiss me. Our lips meet slowly, his touch reverent as he processes everything that's just happened. He's happy about it. I'm so happy that he's happy. I always suspected he would be, but a tiny part of me worried about it anyway. The amount of time we've talked about having kids has been less than an hour total in almost a year and a half. We've been far too busy with the one we already have, even more so the last couple of months with the adoption in the works. But, it seems that we're on the same page with this, and he certainly looks happy.

I smile against his lips, thinking how cliché this moment is, in a way. Less than an hour ago, I was thinking about how real life isn't like TV and how we can't plan these major life events to coincide with premieres and finales, but there's not a more clichéd TV trope than being pregnant at your own wedding. Definitely a ratings buster and instant hook for the next season. But…it's what my body did. It's what our biology accomplished. It happened when it happened because that's just the way life works, and if we could predict and plan every single moment of it, what would be the fun of that?

I hear someone clear their throat, and Chandler and I reluctantly break our kiss. The photographer looks at us apologetically. "Sorry," she says, shrugging a little. "I think the rest of the wedding party is getting ready to head up here, if you wanted to pull yourselves together." We both nod; honestly, I'd forgotten she was even here. "I hope you don't mind, but I overheard your news. I'm sure you didn't plan on me being the first person to find out, but I got some great pictures of the moment. And congratulations."

Chandler sticks his hand out, shaking her hand gratefully. "Thank you," he tells her. "We can't wait to see everything from today."

She nods, looking embarrassed, before stepping back to look down the stairs. "Yeah, they're definitely coming."

"Are we telling them?" I whisper, clutching at my husband's hand.

He shrugs, his fingers tightening around mine. "I don't know. Maybe…we wait? At least until the moment feels right?"

"Okay. That's good. We'll know the moment when it comes." I hope.

One of the other photographers comes into view, and two cameras click at once—one of them capturing our friends as they barrel up the stairs, the other waiting to capture our faces as we're greeted by our loved ones.

I'm sure it'll be chaos for a few moments as we all hug each other and everyone congratulates us, but it doesn't matter. I have my husband by my side.

And he's completely right—together, we can do anything.

* * *

*A/N…I'm sure a few of you had to see that coming. I couldn't help myself, though. We needed a knocked up Monica.

On a slightly unrelated note, I just reread The World Will Follow (which is still a pretty solid story, if I do say so myself, even if it's filled with unholy amounts of boning), and being the needy little bastard that I am, I decided to go back and read the reviews. I just need to say that you guys are god damn heroes. Seriously. I have a hard enough time trying to figure out how to tell someone that I liked what they wrote (truly—it's really tough for me, and I hate that about myself), but you guys managed to do it chapter after chapter. I know I didn't fully appreciate it back then. Unfortunately, I was really going through some serious shit (and if you don't think trying to cope with having your house broken into _twice_ and having your shit stolen isn't serious, then please come back to me after it's happened to you), and the grave illness/death of a family member…suffice it to say, I didn't appreciate it and you guys the way I should have. I hope it's not too late now to let you know how much it really fucking means to me. I could be an ungrateful little asshole back then (I still can now, if I'm being honest, but usually about different things), but I want all of you to know—those who read back at the beginning, those who are just starting now, those of you who reviewed then and those of you who've never left a review—I really fucking appreciate you. I don't think I could ever find another place where I'd get so much positive feedback. I mean, the comments section of any article or story online is enough to make you lose faith in humanity, and almost 100% of the time here, you guys have been awesome. So, thank you for that. Thank you for all of your feedback. Thank you to the people who post, "Please update soon!" because I know you're antsy for another part of this, or any, story. Thank you for everyone who reads my shit, and thank you for the people who go back and read it again. Thank you for the people who put my stories in a massive PDF file and send it to me, and thank you for those who create fan art for something I've written. You're all so fucking amazing that I can't even begin to express how much you mean to me, and if I act like an ungrateful asshole, it's probably because I think I don't deserve it. Imposter Syndrome is a bitch, but it _is_ a real thing, and it fucks you up.

Also, be on the lookout for me to update most of those chapters-I've found tons of typos and grammatical errors that need to be fixed.

Anyway, after all that, some of you may be delighted to know that I've got some big ideas for This Charming Life. I know I haven't updated it in a year (which is hard to believe, but time tends to fly at times), but it's never terribly far from my thoughts. The big ideas will take some time to get to, but, if I'm lucky, you guys will stick with me as I figure out how to get there again.


	46. Chapter 46

_You are my heart, my life, my entire existence._

* * *

We've taken at least a thousand pictures. I suppose that's one of the best parts of digital photography, though—no one's limited by the amount of film or how much it'll cost to get it developed. All of the photographers have been working in tandem, proving to us over and over again why they started a side business together and that we made the right choice using them. We started with pictures in the backyard, in front of the house, and on the stairs while all of our guests milled about on the beach, pigging out on various finger foods.

Somewhat surprisingly, posing for endless photographs is exhausting. Though, that could be the fetus talking.

Our guests, once we were finished in the backyard, were ushered upstairs and fed, and our wedding party was led back down to the beach. I was surprised that Chandler didn't give away the baby with the way he was carefully guiding me back down the stairs to the sand, holding tightly to my hand and making sure I was steady. Most likely, our family just thought he was really excited about being married, but it seemed to take everything in him to keep his hands off my stomach. As it was, it looked like he was bursting at the seams, barely containing his joy.

We managed to take our pictures on the beach at sunset—the added expense of the wedding coordinators was well worth it when they made sure everything was kept on a tight schedule so that we'd get to take all the pictures we knew we wanted—the light making amazing colors all over the sand. With it being just before the start of the main tourist season, our stretch of sand has been mostly empty; not a lot of people are brave enough for the still-cold water or temperamental weather.

Even I have to admit that it started to get difficult to hide the pregnancy from our family and friends while taking all the pictures, but the moment just didn't feel right to tell them. I wanted to take a little more time enjoying it with just Chandler before the world was let in on the secret. Though, after the group shots were finished, everyone else was sent back to the house and Chandler and I got to take some shots of just the two of us—or three of us, when Katie was cooperating—and what looked like overwhelming joy was written all over his face as he gently caressed my belly, the photographers snapping away to capture what I'm sure will turn out to be amazing pictures.

Afterward, Chandler and I actually got to eat privately on the beach, allowing us a little more alone time, and a chance to let everything start to sink in. It's not something either of us thought about, but Phoebe told us she and Mike nearly starved during their wedding reception because they kept having to circulate to talk to guests and hardly ever had a moment to eat. After I found out I was pregnant, it seemed even more important that I take the time to feed myself.

It's nice, though, having this time with each other. Katie sat with us for a while, eating her own dinner happily before falling asleep against Chandler. I wasn't surprised that she passed out, really, and since we're going to be horrible to her and nudge her awake for at least part of the reception, she needs as much rest as she can get.

For the first time, it's been the four of us. Well, at least for the first time that Chandler was aware, at any rate. It's really nice being pregnant around my husband. He hasn't been able to stop looking at me rapturously, his hand straying to my stomach constantly, subconsciously, throughout the entire meal.

"How do you feel?" he asks softly, one of his hands holding Katie against his chest, the other holding my hand for the moment.

I look down at my stomach involuntarily, my free hand coming up to stroke it. "I feel good. The baby seems to be content for the moment." My stomach has felt fairly calm since some point during our photo shoot, only making it easier for me to believe that the baby was crazy excited about the wedding and everything else going on. If I had to bet, I'd say that it's sleeping right now, just like its big sister.

God, that's weird. I haven't taken a lot of time to think of myself as "pregnant." There hasn't been time to think of it, really, especially for the last month. We've been going nonstop and half the time I would forget about the baby almost entirely until a wave of nausea would sweep over me nearly every afternoon. Actually, at first I figured it was low blood sugar until I realized that I hadn't had my period for who knows how long. After that, I managed to get into my doctor almost immediately. It's all been such a whirlwind, though, that I've had a hard time believing it or processing it. Of course, I was reluctant to say anything to anyone because I didn't want to jinx it until the first three months had passed. With all the stress and chaos that's been going on, I didn't want to tell Chandler about the baby only for something to happen to it. In hindsight, that feels a little dumb, though, because I would have needed him to help me through, if the worst had happened. Live and learn, though.

Ordinarily, Chandler's pretty observant about the things that go on with me, though I'm sure that's a holdover from being hyperaware of Katie. He picked up on my cycle pretty early on, and even if he wasn't always aware that it was coming, he got pretty good at reading the signs and could be on alert in an instant. He could see changes in my body and read my mood, and it's been pretty impressive. If we hadn't been in the middle of planning this huge event, there's no way he wouldn't have known—possibly before I did—that I was pregnant.

It's really amazing that he had no idea, and that I was able to surprise him with the news.

Now that he doesn't look completely shell shocked, he seems more and more ecstatic with every passing moment.

"I can't believe you're pregnant," he says to me, his eyes sparkling, and it feels like he's reading my mind again.

"You _are_ happy about it, right?" I ask, squeezing his fingers. "I know we didn't plan it—"

"I am _so_ so so so so happy. I'm not sure which is better—being your husband, or finding out that I'm going to be a father again."

I lean over, smiling at him, and he manages to meet me half way, our lips finding each other in a slow, gentle caress.

Everything about today has been surreal, but better than I ever could have expected. I've always known I wanted to get married, but actually _being_ married is more amazing that I ever imagined, and I've only been Chandler's wife for about an hour. Adding our second child to the mix is only making the whole package more incredible than I ever could have hoped.

"We have to go up soon," Chandler whispers to me, our lips still pressed together.

"I'm sure the natives are growing restless," I agree, relaxing back into my chair with a sigh. Truthfully, we've only been on the beach on our own for about twenty minutes. The other guests have most likely moved along to dancing by now, but they're probably all wondering where we are, too. The rest of the wedding party and our parents have been, I'm sure, holding down the fort, but it's definitely about that time for us to be social.

"We have the rest of our lives," he says to me.

I nod, smiling again. "The rest of our lives. I guess tonight we have to celebrate our _joyous union_ ," I tease.

His hands are occupied, so all he can do is stick his tongue out at me. "Yeah. Bummer, huh?"

"Definitely." I scoot my chair a little closer, leaning my head against his shoulder so I can see Katie's face. "Time to wake up, sweetie," I tell her softly, stroking her hair.

She snuffles, smacking her lips, but sleeps on.

"C'mon, Katie. You just have to wake up for a little while, then I promise you can go back to sleep." I give her forehead a kiss, rubbing her back gently. We could let her sleep, but I'm assuming there will be a ruckus when we get to the top of the stairs, which would probably just lead to her crying, so it's easier to deal with her now. "Uppy-uppy."

Her eyes open suddenly, the same color blue as the tie her father is wearing, and she smiles at me blearily. "Hi, Mama."

"Hi, honey bunny. You ready to go dance?"

"Dance!" she exclaims, nearly smacking Chandler's chin with her head as she sits up suddenly.

Chandler gives the top of her head a gentle rub, just in case. "Yeah, dancing. Sounds like fun, doesn't it?"

"Dance!" She starts to wiggle up and down, completely awake and ready to go. "Dada dance!"

"Yes, ma'am," he answers, kissing her cheek before grinning at me.

"Dance!" she demands, pointing toward the stairs.

"What do we say, Katie?" I ask her and she pauses, blinking her big eyes at me.

"Mama?" she asks, sounding terribly lost.

"What do we say?" I remind her gently, and I watch her brow furrow as she thinks about it. I know she knows this one—we practice it all the time. She's already on the bossy side, and at first, we were so concerned about teaching her words and how to use them, and we'd get so excited when she learned something new, that it took us a while before we realized that she was still, essentially, pointing at things and getting her way. So, we've embarked on the wonderful world of manners. It's been an interesting adventure, though slowly but surely, she's been picking up on them, so I wait.

"Pease," she finally says, looking at me expectantly.

I lean in and kiss her forehead. "Yes, we can go dance."

"Mommy's so demanding," Chandler teases. "What a slave driver."

"Don't act like you don't love it," I tell him, and he grins at me unabashed. With practiced ease, he holds onto Katie and pushes himself out of his chair, holding his hand out to me a moment later. He still does those little, chivalrous things for me that he's done since the beginning—the things that make me swoon—and it makes me fall for him over and over again.

It's the simple things—always has been, and always will be.

We make our way slowly and carefully to the stairs, and the music filters down to us, loud and festive. I see one of our coordinators at the top of stairs nod just a little before speaking into her headset, no doubt alerting those who need to know that we're on our way.

"You ready for this?" I ask softly, giving his elbow a squeeze.

"I'm more ready to start the rest of our life together," he answers honestly, looking ever-so-slightly anxious about facing the small crowd that waits for us.

"They're all here to celebrate us," I remind him. "We'll dance, we'll talk, we'll have fun. I promise. Katie will get to spend time with all of the people that love her most and she'll love it."

"Dance!" Katie exclaims, suddenly almost wiggling with excitement.

"And dance," I agree, giving her tummy a quick tickle. She squirms away from me, grinning broadly. "I think the most important thing to remember is that this is about us. It's our day, and that's what we're celebrating."

He quirks his eyebrow at me, smiling at me cheekily. "Oh, that's what this is all about?"

"Last I heard," I answer, rolling my eyes.

"This whole marriage thing is kind of a big deal, isn't it?"

"Last I heard," I repeat teasingly, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "It's a huge deal, Chandler, and all the people we love most in the world are waiting in my parents' backyard to celebrate with us. We'll go and have fun and just enjoy the moment."

"And, you know, after this is all over, we get to spend the rest of our lives together."

"There _is_ that. You, me…and our babies."

I barely have time to blink before Chandler wraps his free arm around me, pulling me against him. Katie squawks, but we ignore her for the moment as we kiss. It's almost impossible around our big, stupid grins. I feel his hand trail down to my stomach once more, his fingers stroking gently, and a happy laugh bubbles out of me.

"It still doesn't feel real," he breathes against my lips, and I nod a little, bringing my hand up to stroke Katie's back.

"I know," I answer, my eyes opening to meet his, bright blue in the fading light. "We'll go to the doctor soon and get a sonogram. Maybe we'll get to hear the heartbeat, too. I don't know how it all works. But that should make this pretty real, right?"

Somehow, impossibly, his grin grows even wider, and he presses another quick kiss to my lips. He opens his mouth to say something, but a moment later he closes it, shaking his head. In tandem, we turn back toward the stairs, our hands finding each other's instinctively.

Still in sync, we start up the stairs. The coordinator waiting for us at the top looks at us warily, probably waiting for us to stop and chat again. Once we're mostly to the top, she lets out a sigh of relief and taps at her headset, alerting the next in line of our arrival.

The music fades out and our DJ's voice comes over the sound system. "Everybody! Please welcome, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Chandler Bing!"

* * *

*A/N…we're down to the wire, kids. Minimum, there are two chapters left. I split this one up because it was monstrous, and I'm not ready for it to be over. The last chapter is pretty huge, too, so I'm still contemplating that one. So, like I said, at least two chapters, maybe three or four. I'm playing it by ear and rereading the last bits to see if it all works and flows. And thanks again for sticking with me on this!


	47. Chapter 47

_If I know what love is, it's because of you._

* * *

"I should have taken _your_ last name," he whispers into my ear just before everyone bursts out into cheers and applause, and I can't help but laugh at the unexpectedness of the comment. Chandler grins, squeezing my fingers as we step into the backyard. Katie's eyes grow wide at all the noise, but she claps her hands merrily, assuming that all of the attention is for her.

My little diva.

I can't help but look around the yard in amazement. Everything's been so crazy the last few days that I haven't paid a lot of attention to what our reception would actually look like, and even if I had, I don't know that I would have been prepared for how it would look at twilight. Candles float in little bowls on the tables, tiny white lights are strung up in all of the trees, and delicate paper lanterns dance in the cool evening breeze, attached to strings over our heads.

It's completely magical.

My mom appears out of the crowd, leaning in to give my cheek a kiss before she holds her hands out for Katie. Chandler gives Katie a squeeze before tilting her toward my mother, depositing the baby into her waiting arms.

"I'm so happy for you two," she whispers, giving Chandler's arm a quick squeeze before taking a few steps back, gently bouncing Katie on her hip.

My hand reaches out for Chandler again and our fingers fill the spaces between each other's automatically. The crowd steps back and makes a path for us as our song starts to play. I feel my husband give my hand a little tug as we reach the makeshift dance floor. He lifts his arm and gives me a little twirl before he pulls me against his chest.

"You weren't kidding when you said this was your only dance move," I whisper to him teasingly.

He looks at me blankly for a just a few seconds before he rolls his eyes playfully. "You knew dancing wasn't my strong suit going into this marriage."

"I'm not complaining. I appreciate you bringing your A game to our reception."

"Gotta keep the masses happy," he answers, slowly swaying me to the music, both of us falling silent for a few moments.

"Can you believe it was just a year ago that we first danced to this song?" I ask quietly, surprised by my own revelation. "So much has happened."

"Good things, though, right?"

I look up at him in disbelief. "No. It's been terrible. That's why I'm dancing with you at our wedding."

He purses his lips for a few seconds, mock-glaring at me. "You know what I mean."

Standing up on tiptoe, I press my lips to his. "My time with you has been the best time of my life."

His arms tighten around me and I close my eyes, resting my head in the crook of his neck. I work really hard to keep the fresh wave of tears from falling, though I feel a few sneak down my cheeks anyway.

I have never been this happy in my entire life.

I'm a wife, and I'm a mother.

If I'm being completely honest with myself, I've been a mother for some time now. I may not have been ready to admit it, but in hindsight…there's no way around it. I've been Katie's mommy for almost as long as I've known her. It's been amazing, and it's made me happier than even I could have believed. I can't wait to meet our new one and watch our family grow.

"You ready?" Chandler whispers, and my eyes flutter open slowly. I'm relieved to find that not only is our song still playing, but that I managed not to fall asleep for a few minutes.

"For what?"

He looks down at me, waggling his eyebrows. "I think I have another dance move up my sleeve."

"Don't hurt yourself," I tell him.

"I like to take songs literally."

I stare at him blankly, trying to figure out what he means, when I feel his arm tighten around my waist. A moment later, he picks me up ever so slightly, spinning me around, and I don't fight my laughter.

"Let it lift you off the ground," we both sing softly to each other. "Starry eyes and love is all around us."

My feet touch the grass again, but he somehow manages to keep us twirling, the lights in the trees dancing around us like stars.

"I can take you where you want to go," Chandler says softly, his face so earnest and open, and I can't help as a few more tears form in my eyes. I wrap both of my arms around his waist and burying my head in his chest, feeling his heart beat steadily. We sway to the rest of the song like a couple of middle schoolers at their first dance, the music fading out just a few moments later.

"I love you, Monica."

I squeeze him to me for a few long moments, nodding just a little. "I love you, too."

His hands come up and cup my cheeks, tilting my head up to his. "I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you," he whispers before leaning down to kiss me.

My heart swells to previously unknown proportions, and I swear the baby starts to kick. It could just be happy flutters in my stomach, but I'd much rather think our baby is just excited that Mommy is so happy.

"Mind if I cut in?"

Chandler and I break apart to find my dad standing next to us, smiling. "Of course not," he answers, taking a step back, his fingers holding onto mine for as long as possible before he steps into the crowd. I finally look back to my father to find his eyes watery, though everything else about him is radiating happiness.

"Hi, baby girl," he says softly, holding out his arms for me.

I try to answer him, but it gets lost in a sob bubbling out of me. Instead, I just shrug helplessly and let him lead me in our father/daughter dance. I try to get myself under control, but my emotions are completely out of whack right now. I'm sure I can blame a good deal of it on the baby, but today has definitely been overwhelming. A good overwhelming, to be sure, but a lot has happened. Even though my father tends to be goofy and spacey, his quiet presence at the moment is extremely comforting.

I feel him let out a sigh and I wait for him to speak, but he remains silent. Part of me wants to know how he's dealing with all of this, but the rest of me doesn't think I'm strong enough at the moment. I lean my head against his chest and my eyes naturally land on Chandler, Katie already resting against his hip. They sway gently to the music and I smile; two father/daughter dances happening at the same time. One day, Katie will be old enough to do this at her own wedding, if she decides to get married. But looking at her now, it's hard to believe that she'll be a grown up some day, despite how much she's changed in the short time I've known her. It's easy to imagine that she'll always be a little girl— _our_ little girl—who'll always be small enough to dance in her father's arms.

My dad gives my hand a little squeeze, bringing me back to the present. The gentle sounds of the ukulele fills the air. My father and I have never really had a song, and even though I could always picture dancing with him at my wedding, I never had a particular song in mind. When I asked him about it, he wasn't much help, telling me to pick whatever I wanted and it would be fine with him. I wound up picking "Over The Rainbow," but not the Judy Garland version. A Hawaiian guy who's name I can never pronounce did this one. It's sweet and hopeful, but also sad, and it just felt like it fit the occasion.

"I guess you're not my little girl anymore," my father finally says, his voice sounding sad, and my eyes fill with tears once more.

"I'll always be your little girl," I answer.

"You grew up better than I ever could have dreamed."

"Daddy…"

"I'm serious. I always knew you were special, but the person you've become is more amazing than anything I dared hope for."

"Thank you," I whisper, squeezing my arm around his shoulders.

"Are you happy?"

I laugh, leaning back to look up at him. "Do you really have to ask that?"

"Yes," he answers, his voice serious.

"I'm _so_ happy, Dad. And every time I think I can't be happier, I am. Every day is better than the last."

"It just keeps getting better," he promises me. "It'll be hard sometimes, but when you're married to the person you're supposed to be with, every day will be like that. You'll go to bed thinking that you couldn't possibly top that day, and the next morning you'll realize it's just…better."

"Marriage sounds awesome."

"It is. Hard, but awesome."

Hard, but awesome. I think I can live with that. I'm sure I have no idea of what's really in store for me and Chandler and our future, but I think "hard, but awesome," may be the most accurate way ever to describe marriage.

"And if you're ever not happy, just let me know. I'll kill him."

I stare up at my father in shock. He's not at all a violent man; in fact, he's one of the gentlest people I've ever met. At the moment, though, there's not a doubt in my mind that he's serious.

I look over at my new husband, still swaying gently with our daughter. He gives me a broad smile and a little wink. He looks about as happy as I feel right now. Truthfully, he looks ecstatic.

"I don't think that'll ever be a problem, Dad," I answer. I'm sure it won't always be perfect, but I think I'll always be happy.

He kisses my forehead and gives me a squeeze before letting me go. I smile at him brightly before I make my way back to Chandler, trying my hardest not to read too much into my father "letting me go."

"Mama," Katie says to me, holding out her arms. Chandler and I both laugh as I pull her against me, and he leans down to give me a kiss.

"Be right back," he says softly before he walks off. Within a moment, Phoebe and Rachel are flanking me.

"Want me to take the baby?" Phoebe asks right as Rachel says, "Where's he going?"

"I've got her," I answer, gently rubbing Katie's back. "I feel like I haven't gotten to see her at all today." Even though I've been with her almost constantly since first thing this morning, I really haven't spent a lot of time with her, not to mention that she's fading fast. Considering she was gung-ho about dancing just a few minutes ago, she's already blinking sleepily again. It won't be long before we have to put her to bed. Mike, who is obviously the genius of the bunch, suggested a while back hiring a babysitter for the evening. One of those things so stupidly obvious that I can't believe we never thought about it ourselves. Fortunately one of Joey's sisters volunteered to do it and will be taking Katie into the house before long.

"And in answer to your question, Rache, Chandler's going to dance with his mom."

"A mother/son dance?" she asks. "Is that a thing?"

"Not as much as it should be," I answer as I see Chandler hold out his hand to Nora, who stares at him in shock.

Phoebe chuckles a little as they walk to the middle of the dance area. "I take it she didn't know it was going to happen."

"Nope." I feel Katie tighten her arms around my neck as her head lands on my shoulder. "He wanted it to be a surprise for her."

My new mother-in-law looks more than pleased as she and her son start to dance to "My Girl." I kiss Katie's forehead and sway her gently as I watch the two of them move about each other with no rhyme or reason. They smile broadly at each other, both looking as if they're having the time of their lives.

"Mama dance," Katie mumbles, her head not even leaving my shoulder even as she pretends she's still ready to party.

I bounce her carefully. "I guess you'd say," I whisper into her sweet-smelling hair. "What can make me feel this way? My girl, my girl, my girl." Katie's little body goes limp against my side, her tiny snores in my ear. I close my eyes as I dance with her, my heart actually in pain from the amount of happiness and joy I feel. My stomach flutters and I smile, fighting with myself to keep my hand from resting on it.

My eyes open as the music fades out, and I see Nora hugging her son tightly, her face wet with tears. Chandler doesn't look like he's faring much better, honestly. Joey's sister, Veronica, shows up at my side, looking at me questioningly. I nod and give Katie a kiss before carefully passing her off. Chandler hurries over to us, giving Katie a kiss, too, before she's whisked away. Even though I know it's best for her, it hurts to watch her go.

"Your mom looked happy," I finally say to him, our guests scattering about as the "official" dances end, heading back to their tables to wait for their meals to be served.

"She was thrilled," he answers. "She never suspected a thing." He puts his hands on my hips, his thumbs stroking the sides of my stomach carefully. "How do you feel?" he whispers.

I roll my eyes playfully, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. "Is this what I'm going to have to live with for the next six months?"

"Deal with it, babe," he answers, leaning down to kiss me.

Whoops and cheers go up around us, and Chandler and I pull apart, laughing. He takes my hand and starts to pull me toward our table, stopping to snag a couple of champagne flutes on a tray going past us.

I give him a look as he hands one to me, my eyebrows reaching for my hairline. "Chandler…"

He wraps his free arm around my shoulder, pressing his lips against my ear. "If you don't have one in your hand, people will ask questions."

He's not wrong. If nothing else, Rachel would pick up on that in a heartbeat.

He stops in his tracks, staring at me open-mouthed.

"Hon, you look like a fish," I tell him with a laugh. "What's up?"

He steps closer to me, leaning down to speak into my ear again, and we continue toward our table. "Is this why you haven't been drinking?"

I chuckle, shaking my head. "Part of it, at least the last few weeks. Neither of us are exactly habitual drinkers, and I really never thought about it half the time. On the rare occasions that I did, just the idea of a glass of wine exhausted me. We really have had too much going on for it to really be a consideration."

"And yet, somehow in the middle of all that, we managed to make a person."

My heart flutters like crazy again. Being able to talk about the baby with Chandler is unreal. And he's so excited about it. I wanted him to be excited—I really hoped he would be—but seeing the absolute joy on his face is better than anything I could have imagined.

We stop at our table and I put my glass down before I put my hand on the back of his neck, pulling him down to me. " _We made a person_ ," I whisper excitedly. "Holy shit!"

"Such language in front of the baby," he scolds.

I laugh and wrap him in my arms. "I love you so much."

His arms go around my waist and he pulls me close, but I can feel him holding back. He's definitely still in the "I'm going to hurt the baby" phase.

"I love you, wife," he whispers.

"You're not going to hurt us," I remind him, giving him a squeeze

"Give me some time," he says, looking at me sheepishly. "It's a lot to get used to."

"Fine, fine. But…will you call me 'wife' again?"

He immediately moves his hands to my face, cupping my cheeks. "Wife," he says softly.

I stand on tiptoes, pressing my lips to his. "Husband."

That doesn't feel real yet. I wonder how long it'll take before being married feels like reality instead of a fantasy. We've more or less been living together for a year, behaving as a married couple with a toddler daughter, but everyone always says that being married is completely different than co-habitating. That's probably true, and I can't wait to find out.

"Let's get this party started, wife," he whispers, finally unraveling himself from around me. He holds out my chair, bowing gallantly.

"Suddenly you're a gentleman," I tease, smoothing my dress carefully before I sit down. "If I had known this was all it took, I would have married you months ago."

Chandler looks genuinely offended before he rolls his eyes, putting his hands on my shoulders to lean down to my ear. "It's only 'cause you're knocked up."

"I see how it is." I turn my head to see him, pressing my lips against his.

He presses his forehead to mine, both of us taking a moment to breathe. "Before the toasts get started, I'm going to thank everyone for coming."

I nod, grabbing his face to give him another kiss before he heads over to the DJ's table. I know that everyone in our wedding party and our parents want their turn to offer us best wishes and, most likely, thinly veiled threats. Neither Chandler nor I had the heart to tell them no, either. It was such a simple request, and since we've been fairly set on doing everything our way and keeping it mostly nontraditional, we both felt pretty good about giving our loved ones time to say a few words.

I'm impressed with Chandler, who wanted to make sure we thanked everyone at one time, in case we couldn't make it around to all of our guests. It's not that he's terrified of public speaking—quite the opposite, actually. He constantly makes presentations at work, so he's actually very comfortable with being in front of a crowd. He's just not a fan of social situations, especially ones where the attention is focused on him. But, this was his idea, and maybe he figured most of the attention is usually on the bride, so a little thrown his way wouldn't hurt.

Of course, he also seems pretty deliriously happy right now, so maybe that's part of it.

"Hi everyone." Chandler's voice comes out across the speakers, pulling me out of my thoughts. I smile at him from across the reception area, proud to see not even a trace of nervousness or discomfort. "My new wife Monica and I wanted to take a few moments to thank all of you for coming here today." His eyes find mine and he grins, slowly making his way back toward me. "We know how crazy weddings can get, and just in case, we wanted each and everyone one of you to know how much you mean to us. We can't thank you enough for coming all the way out to Connecticut just to watch us pledge to love each other for all eternity."

The crowd laughs and I sniffle a little. I feel a pair of arms slide around my shoulders; I'm not surprised to find Rachel's face near mine, her eyes a little misty as she watches my husband. I tilt my head a little more to find Phoebe with her arms around Rachel's shoulders, the expression on her face nearly identical to our friend's. I vaguely hope that one of our photographers catches this moment before I hear Chandler's voice again.

"We want to thank all of you even more for making time for us on short notice like this. When Monica and I got engaged, I'm sure we didn't expect to be married five months later, but we suddenly realized that it was silly to keep waiting. We had much better things to do than spend a year planning a wedding.

"On a personal note—well, an even more personal note," he clarifies with a laugh, our guests chuckling along with him, "I really want to thank all of you who have stuck with me since Katie was born. Those first few months weren't easy, and I'm so grateful that I didn't have to do it alone because I don't think I could have managed it. And I'm so unbelievably grateful that Monica found us when she did, and that she showed Katie what a mommy was supposed to be." Rachel's arms give me a little squeeze as tears tighten my throat. He shouldn't be thanking me right now—he and Katie were the ones that brought _me_ to life and showed me what love really is. "I can't imagine where we'd be if you hadn't been standing behind me in line that day."

 _I love you_ , I mouth to him as he finally manages to make his way to our table.

"This is the happiest day of my life," he says, forgetting completely about the people around him as our eyes meet. "I know I probably shouldn't say that, and the day Katie was born truly is _way_ up there, but today is the day we officially became a family, and my life feels like it's finally on track. So, I want to thank all of you for being here to celebrate with us, but I also want to toast to my wife, Monica." Everyone's glasses go up in the air, saluting us. "And I want to toast our daughter, Katie, who is hopefully sleeping peacefully inside." I laugh and grab one of the cloth napkins off the table, dabbing carefully at my face. Somehow, my makeup has managed to survive this long, and I kind of want to ride it out, see if it can hold out through the rest of the night. "Katie took to Monica right away. She didn't mind being dumped in this stranger's arms and toted around, and it was only a matter of maybe a week after they met that Katie would fall asleep on Monica. That should have been a huge, glaring sign, right? If a baby trusts a near stranger enough to take care of her while she sleeps, she must be a keeper. Well, Katie was right, not that I had any intention of letting Monica go at that point."

When did this become a toast about me? He was just supposed to be thanking everyone for being here.

"I know I'm going on and on," he says, looking around at our small crowd. How does he read my mind like that, too? "And I know I started off thanking all of you for being here, but it's important to me that everyone knows how incredible my wife is. Without her, none of us would be here right now. Monica is the most amazing woman I've ever met, and not a day goes by that I don't wake up and thank the universe that she's by my side. I don't know why she agreed to marry me. Hell, I'm still trying to figure out why she agreed to go on that first date with me. I couldn't stop staring at her, I made _really_ awkward jokes, and gave her some of the worst pick-up lines imaginable." Everyone lets out a huge laugh at that, but I just shrug. I don't recall our first meeting being all that bad. "But, she said she'd go out with me and I never gave her a chance to rethink it.

"And, you know, it's not every day you meet a person who is comfortable with getting into a relationship with someone who has a baby. I know she was scared at first—who wouldn't be?—but she rose to the occasion. She knew that getting involved with me wouldn't be just an average relationship, and she knew that Katie would be the one to really get hurt if things didn't work out. Believe me when I say that Katie has always been her priority. Monica has been the best mother in the world since day one and she didn't even realize it.

"So, I do want to thank everyone, sincerely, for being here today, but most of all, I want to thank Monica, the mother of…" His voice trails off, his head tilting to the side just a little, and I realize what he's asking. My heart bangs against my ribcage as I nod ever so slightly, letting him know it's okay. He clears his throat and I watch his eyes fill with tears. "The mother of my children…" His face crumples and the hand holding the microphone drops to his side. He covers his face with his free hand, his shoulders shaking, and everyone around us gasps in turn as what he said hits them. Rachel's arms go slack around me, surprise setting in, and I stand easily, taking a few steps toward my husband before I wrap him in my arms. He buries his face in the crook of my neck as he cries, and I can't help but be moved by his reaction. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his free hand wrapping around my waist.

"It's okay," I soothe as I hold him close, kissing his jaw. "The moment was right."

"I'm just so happy," he answers. Even though his tears are soaking my shoulder, I know it's true. In hindsight, I'm a little amazed that he managed to keep it in for this long. He pulls his head back and sniffles, and I bring my hands up to wipe his cheeks. "You've made me so happy."

A grin spreads across my face, hurting my cheeks with the size of it. "Right back at you." I lean up and kiss him, vaguely aware of the people around us murmuring, their voices growing louder as more and more start to catch on to what's happening.

"Monica, what's going on?" I hear my mother ask, not at all surprised that hers is the voice that manages to get through to me. I give Chandler another kiss and squeeze him one more time. He hands me the mic without hesitation and wraps his arms around me from behind, his hands carefully laced over my stomach.

"Well," I say, laughing just a little, "I guess by now it's obvious that I'm not just glowing because I'm happy." Everyone seems to gasp at once and I bite my lip as I try not to laugh. Their reactions feel like they're right out of a movie. My stomach flutters and I know that it has to be the baby. I don't know what else could explain it. It really does feel different than just regular butterflies. I don't even care at this point if I'm imagining it.

I gaze out over the small crowd of our friends and family, most of whom are staring at us in shock, and take in their facial expressions for the first time. Almost everyone's mouth is hanging open. Rachel has her hand clapped over her mouth as tears pool in her eyes. Phoebe is nearly bouncing up and down in excitement. I don't know if Joey could look more emotional if it were his own child. Chandler's parents look stunned and, unfortunately but understandably, just a touch nervous. Ross is actually holding onto our mother's hand as a grin starts to spread across his face, and my parents look ready to bolt up to me. I think everyone is waiting to hear the actual words before fully committing to their responses.

I tilt my head to the side and look up at Chandler, who seems to have not been able to get himself under control. I angle the microphone away from us and say softly, "Careful, honey, you're going to dehydrate."

He kisses the tip of my nose tenderly before pressing his forehead to mine. "I'd like to feel bad about being overly emotional right now, but I just can't make it happen."

"You want to say it, or should I?"

"I don't think I can hold myself together long enough to do it."

"C'mon, you're killing us!" Joey exclaims, looking as if he's about to explode.

"Okay, okay," I answer, bringing the microphone back up to my lips. "I guess I should say, though, that this wasn't a shotgun wedding but…we're having a baby!"

A huge cheer goes up, and my first thought is that I hope it doesn't wake Katie. I feel my eyes go huge as I realize everyone is surging toward us, eager to offer their congratulations.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Chandler calls out, holding his hands up. "Do _not_ crush this woman. Be _gentle_."

Somehow, everyone manages to listen and slows their attack, but I can still hear a million questions being asked at the same time. And they all look like they're ready to pounce at any moment. For the moment, I don't know how to process any of it other than to just shrug and smile. Tears are, once more, threatening to overwhelm me. My husband tightens his grip on me, and I can feel his fingers spreading protectively across my belly.

"We didn't plan on telling anyone today," I explain. "We didn't really know when we'd announce it."

"I'm just really excited about it," Chandler says, grin evident in his voice.

"We just wanted to wait until the moment felt right."

"And this felt really right."

"When's it due?" I'm not even sure at this point who asked that. Most likely, it was just a collective thought from the entire crowd.

God, Chandler and I haven't even really talked about that. We haven't had that much time, truthfully, and he's been more concerned with touching my stomach and staring at me as if I'm some sort of religious figure to even ask about due dates. He's a smart guy, though—I'm sure he's done the math.

"End of the year," I answer. "Mid to late December."

Unfortunately for the poor kid, its birthday will land somewhere around Christmas. I'm hoping that Chandler and I can be the sort of parents that will make sure to give our kid the sort of birthday attention it deserves instead of lumping it all together. Most likely, it shouldn't be an issue, even if the rest of the world tries to pretend it's all one holiday.

Without me realizing what's happening, everyone sort of engulfs us in a giant hug. Not surprisingly, our parents and closest friends are at the middle of all of it. Everyone is talking at once, offering congratulations, asking questions, making requests, and even a few voices in the back already offering criticisms.

I catch Chandler's eye over his mother's shoulder. His eyes are still a bit red and watery, but his smile has taken over his face. This is definitely not how I expected to tell the world about our baby, but I can't imagine it happening in a more perfect way. I can't imagine anything about our wedding day being more perfect. Everything went better than I expected, and much better than I hoped. Despite the few naysayers in the crowd, it isn't too soon for us to have a baby. I think it's the exact right time for us to have a baby. I think the universe knows what it's doing and that we can handle it.

Up until just a couple of hours ago, I didn't really let myself think about the fact that I'm pregnant or that, before you know it, Chandler and I will have another little person to take care of. None of it has felt entirely real, and with so much wedding stuff to focus on, it was extraordinarily easy to almost forget my condition.

Now, it's all very real, and even though I know having a baby means everything is going to change, and change rapidly at that, I'm so excited that I can't even put it into words. This is happening. This is my life. I'm married to the man of my dreams, Katie is the world's greatest kid, and in just a matter of months, we'll have a baby. It's almost too much to process.

I feel fingers twine through mine and look up. Even though there are people everywhere and we're not even standing next to each other at this point, but Chandler's hand has managed to find my own. I give his fingers a squeeze, hoping to let him know that I'm by his side, that I'll always be by his side.

 _This is my life_.

The best part is that this is just the beginning.

* * *

*A/N…told you this was a long chapter.

It's been a while since Chandler and Monica first danced at her parents anniversary party, but their song is Dance With Me by Orleans.

Over the Rainbow for Monica's dance with her father just sprang to mind for no reason at all, other than it's a really lovely cover. It's by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole, and it'll possibly wreck your soul, but it's worth a listen.

I actually was at a wedding one time where the groom and his mother danced to My Girl (The Temptations), so that's where that came from. So, just in case you guys want to go back and re-read with a sound track, there you go.

I think there's no way I can break the epilogue down at all, so it looks like there's just one chapter left. Yikes! Actually, there'll be two chapters, but the last one posted will be extensive author's notes.


	48. Chapter 48

_Forever and ever, kid, until you're sick and tired of seeing me._

* * *

I stand up from my crouched position and stretch, arching my back as my arms spread wide. My body locks in that position for a few moments, attempting to work out all the kinks, before it finally gives up. I go slack and give myself a little shake, trying to get the blood flowing again.

I grab my bottle of water off the counter and chug for a few long seconds, not realizing until that very moment that I'd gotten so thirsty. This is hard work.

Regardless, I lean against the kitchen sink and gaze out the window. This has been a long time coming, and even though it's turning out to be more physically taxing than I expected, especially given my condition, I want to take some time to let it all soak in.

No—I _need_ some time.

I'm moving into my very first house. This is _huge_.

Actually, I'm quite hoping it'll be our only house, even more so after experiencing what it's like to have to move an apartment full of stuff into a house, and then try to make that house into a home. I can't imagine the nightmare it would be after ten or fifteen years to move everything from here to somewhere else.

And this is including hiring people to come in and help load and unload the moving truck.

We weren't planning on moving at all at that particular moment, but we had a bunch of strange days where every sign seemed to point toward this house. One afternoon, after we'd been married for just a few months, we'd stopped in to get coffee—decaf for me, unfortunately—and as we sat down, the door opened and blew a newspaper open, stopping on the real estate section. Immediately, our eyes landed on the same listing, and, for fun, Chandler called to find out if we could go see it. The agent happened to be heading that way, so we picked up Katie from Phoebe and Mike's, got Chandler's car out of the garage, and drove almost an hour outside of the city to go look at a house. We made jokes the entire time, neither of us expecting anything to come of it. I mean, it was way out in Westchester County. We didn't want to live that far away from Manhattan. At best, we'd toyed with the idea of moving out to Brooklyn or Queens, even though the yards in those areas are still pretty small and wouldn't give Katie or the baby much room to play in. It was also the first and only house we'd bothered to look at by that point, and since moving wasn't in our plans at that moment, our expectations were way low.

When we pulled up to the house, though, I knew I was in trouble. Just the exterior was pretty much what I'd always pictured as my dream home. I tried to calm myself down, tell myself it was my hormones and nesting instinct kicking in. I also told myself that no matter how much I might love it, if Chandler wasn't into it, too, that was that. If we weren't both madly in love with a house, then it wasn't worth it.

Unfortunately, Chandler had an excellent poker face that day and I had no idea what he was thinking.

Katie, on the other hand, couldn't stop talking. "Mama yook!" "Mama, what dat?" "Dada flowers!" She was thrilled and completely enamored.

The real estate agent was kind and friendly, taking us all over the house that only been on the market for a day, showing us all four bedrooms, a full basement and attic, three and a half baths, and the huge backyard. Chandler jokingly asked her the price, which hadn't been listed in the ad, and we had assumed it'd be something astronomical, given the location and the size of the house. Both of us stared in shock when she told us a price so low we figured it had to be a joke. But then she explained that the house had been inherited from an older man who'd passed away, and the kids didn't have any need for it. Since it'd been paid off for years, they decided to sell it and just make some money. The price hadn't been listed in the newspaper because they'd thought such a low number would bring in some of the more unsavory sort of people.

But the house had stood empty for several years before the decision was made to sell, and once they put it on the market, they knew they wanted to get rid of it as quickly as possible, no strings attached. The real estate agent was good, too, emphasizing the quality of the local schools, noticing but not commenting on my pooched-out pregnant belly. She mentioned the affordable daycare in the area, too. She told us how safe the neighborhood was and that all the neighbors look out for each other and their kids, and all I could think about was how this was what I wanted for Katie and the baby. I wanted them to grow up in a place like this. This isn't something they could have in the city. Sure, there are some really great schools in Manhattan, and they'd certainly be surrounded by all sorts of culture, but there's something about being able to play in your own backyard that can't be matched.

The realtor stepped back then, offering to let us wander around and talk, making sure we had her card, just in case. We sat down on the stairs to the back porch to watch Katie run around the yard, collecting dandelions and buttercups, my heart already aching.

" _This is our house, Monica," Chandler had blurted out._

" _Yep."_

" _I know that we put house hunting on the backburner for a while but…wait, what?"_

" _You're right."_

" _I'm right?"_

" _We're supposed to live here," I answered. "We're supposed to raise our babies here. It's perfect."_

 _He linked his fingers through mine then, fiddling with my wedding bands. "Can we afford it?"_

 _I scooted a little closer to him, shrugging. "We'll find a way. It's what we wanted to do eventually, anyway, right? And look how happy Katie is already. She needs this." My free hand floated to my stomach, rubbing my baby bump. "The baby's gonna need this, too. Our family is growing, Chandler, and I don't want to wind up moving into bigger and bigger apartments."_

" _Okay, but you're six months pregnant. You're just going to get pregnanter, hopefully. It's not exactly an ideal time to be moving."_

" _I don't think there ever_ will _be an ideal time, honey. If we wait until after the baby is born, then we have to move with an infant. If we wait until the baby's bigger, then we have to move with two toddlers. If we put in an offer and get this house, we'll figure it out. We have friends. We have family. I'm sure they'd help."_

So, we put in an offer that day, crossed our fingers and held our breath. As we were putting Katie to bed for the night, we got a call letting us know that our offer had been accepted.

It was almost a week before that really sunk in and we realized exactly what it would mean. We knew telling our friends wouldn't be easy, but hopefully they would understand.

They did, more or less, and thankfully, Mike—who'd been a lawyer before giving it up to be a musician—stepped in and helped us negotiate with the house. Of course, since he'd helped us with our apartment lease in the spring, managing to get us from a year-long-contract to a month-to-month, it wasn't surprising that he helped us again.

It's a good thing he did step in, though, because it turns out there was a lot of work needed on our new place, work that we would have wound up paying for on top of the cost of the house. Since it'd been sitting empty for a few years beforehand, and hadn't been getting a lot of love or attention from the owner before he died, our inspection found that it needed to be completely rewired and repainted, the air and heating system needed to be upgraded, and almost all of the windows and gutters had to be replaced, not to mention that the back porch—the back porch we'd so cavalierly sat on while we watched Katie play—needed to be almost completely rebuilt because it was starting to sag in some places. On the upside, the foundation and, somehow, the roof were in perfect condition. But Mike—dear, sweet, barracuda Mike—managed to get the sellers to agree to, essentially, pay for it all. It didn't come directly out of their pockets, but everything we paid for on our own came off the price of the house. So, once we had estimates for all the repairs, we submitted the new price, and because Mike is so good at his first profession, he got them to agree to it. It was still all profit for the owner's family, so we didn't feel as if we were robbing them blind. Even after all the repair costs, the price was still lower than we expected, but Mike had argued that because we were putting so much work into making it livable, the offer we initially put in was too high. They must have agreed because our mortgage is significantly lower than we anticipated.

It honestly makes me wonder why Mike ever got out of practicing law—he's really good at it. I just know that I'm grateful he's on our side.

Still, there was no way to move into our house before the repairs were complete. Naturally, the repairs took longer than anticipated. Once we got the house rewired, we painted the insides and added new light fixtures. Technically, _we_ didn't paint anything. Chandler did it with the help all of our friends plus our parents. He wouldn't let me anywhere near the paint fumes. That part was frustrating. Understandable, but frustrating.

At least the new windows could be installed while the insides were being painted, but by the time those things were done, it was nearing the end of October and, of course, winter decided to come early. When it wasn't snowing, it was pouring down rain, and there was no way to get the outside of the house painted or the gutters fixed or the porch repaired in that weather.

We'd hoped to be in by the time the baby was born, but we couldn't make it happen. Personally, I was trying not to stress out too much under the weight of our rent _and_ mortgage payments. It felt like too much, especially knowing that it'd be a few months before the weather cleared up enough to allow more work on the house.

It didn't help that my hormones nearly pushed me off the deep end. I don't know how Chandler, or anyone near me, managed, honestly. I felt like I was going crazy—I desperately wanted to nest and make the apartment perfect for the baby, but then I kept telling myself I shouldn't because we'd be moving soon. I wanted to go crazy with presents for Katie again at Christmas, but I was worried about us not having extra money at the moment, but I also didn't want Katie to suffer because it certainly wasn't her fault. I spent a lot of time crying, which seemed to freak out Katie because she'd never seen me like that. Not to mention that she was fully ensconced in her own turmoil of terrible twos…Chandler didn't really know what to do. Poor guy.

The worst part was that I _knew_ it was all temporary. I knew it'd only be a few months that we'd be paying rent and a mortgage, and that while we didn't have as much disposable income at that moment as we had in the past, we weren't anywhere near the poorhouse. But my crazy pregnant brain didn't have a lot of room for logical thought at that point, so all I could do was stress out.

It was lots of fun.

My parents, though…my parents wound up giving us a huge check just after Chanukah. Chandler and I both tried to protest, but they said it was the money they'd set aside years ago for my wedding, and since we hadn't needed it at that point, having paid for most of it ourselves and saving a lot of money by having it at the beach house, they'd figured they'd wait until we did need it. It wasn't until they saw me stressed out during the holidays that they realized how tight everything had become. Naturally, I was a sobbing wreck afterward. Of course, I was about a million months pregnant then, so dropping a spoon on the ground made me cry, too.

And, completely unplanned with my parents, Chandler's parents wound up donating to the cause, too. We didn't see them as much during that time, so I don't know how much they picked up on our financial situation, though I'm sure conversations with Chandler made it clear, even if he didn't come out and say it. But Nora came to visit through the holidays, and his father Charles only made it out for a couple of days, but they also handed over money. They said it was money they'd been saving for Chandler's future for years, which I still only sort of believe. They told us they'd also set aside money for our honeymoon, which we never really took—we stayed on at the beach house for a few extra days after the wedding before getting back to reality—and since it was technically our money to do with what we wanted, we should have it.

It's a little known fact that Chandler actually comes from money. He never had to come out and say it, but just listening to the stories about how he grew up and going to boarding school made it very obvious. However, he's never been a trust fund kid or the sort to ask his parents for money. He's always supported himself. I also know that he's insanely financially responsible and would never have let us get into a true bind, not that quickly at least. When he talked to his parents, he most likely just told them that I was stressed out about the situation rather than that the situation was dire. Still and all, though, the money helped to put me at ease, knowing it was there if we needed it.

I _really_ don't know how Chandler managed with me being so crazy. Just me talking incessantly about all the money we were spending and worrying about where it was coming from had to be stressful for him, even more so because I was showing him a whole new brand of crazy—he'd gotten really good at my other types of insanity, but pregnant, stressed out wife was new to both of us.

Unfortunately, all the money in the world wasn't going to help our house be ready sooner in bad weather. We could have definitely managed without the outside being painted, and most likely it wouldn't have been too bad without the porch being fixed yet or with the old gutters, but the heating and air systems that only needed upgrading when we bought the house went kaput at some point while the inside was being fixed up. Of course, too, the winter is a busy time of year for getting heating systems fixed, so we were also just waiting our turn. If it was just Chandler and me, I think we both would have just used the fireplaces to keep warm and dealt with the climate until we could get everything fixed, and my pregnant body was certainly generating more than enough warmth, but it seemed wildly unfair to Katie to have to be somewhere chilly when we had a perfectly working apartment for her.

Then, of course, the baby was late. We found out at our first appointment that, due to its size and development, the original estimate of mid-to-late December wasn't completely accurate; late December is when it would make its grand arrival. My original plan was to work until early in the month then go on maternity leave, but between my stress over finances and my complete inability to sit home and just be pregnant, I decided to work until either I wasn't physically capable or my doctor told me not to. It was a lot of fun for my coworkers to watch, and they made constant jokes about me not standing too close to the heat of the stoves and oven or I was going to explode like Jiffy Pop. Hilarious.

My due date, December twenty-fourth, arrived but the baby didn't. Everyone was on pins and needles waiting, but I didn't have anything that even hinted at a contraction. We thought maybe it was waiting for Christmas day, but it didn't show up then, either. The day after that, we saw the doctor who told us that everything was fine and that the baby just wasn't ready.

This was actually a bone of contention for me, at least irrationally so. I'm never late for anything, so the fact that I couldn't deliver on time nearly made my head explode.

I tried going back to work, but my maternity leave officially started on the twenty-third, my replacement was already in place, and the manager told me that if I thought I was going to let my water break all over the kitchen floor, I had another think coming. So, back home I went, to spend most of my time nearly climbing the walls. Katie was still at daycare, mostly so that if something _did_ happen while I was home, I wouldn't have to worry about trying to wrangle her as well as my pregnant self. Chandler couldn't take any kind of leave until I was actually in labor, so he was stuck at work, which was probably for the best. The one time he tried to work from home at that point, it almost ended in divorce. Not through any fault of his, honestly, but because I was truly going crazy.

I packed things, I unpacked things. I rearranged furniture, I put it back the way it was. I created floor plans for the new house before tearing them to shreds, frustrated. I tried watching TV, but just about everything made me cry.

Toward the end there, I was about ready to divorce myself. Knowing you're being psychotic but helpless to stop or change it is one of the worst feelings in the world.

By the time New Year's Eve rolled around, it was starting to feel almost funny, aside from the fact that I was exhausted and swollen and achy. At least we could take the time to marvel over how much had changed in just one year. We got engaged on New Year's Eve, and within twelve months, we were married and expecting our second child. It's a lot to take in. It was also the first time since probably middle school that I was asleep before midnight on December 31st, completely unaware that a brand new year was starting around me. I, miraculously, found a comfortable position and managed to sleep for almost eight solid hours. It felt like the greatest gift I'd ever received.

We saw the doctor again on New Year's Day, who said she'd induce me by the end of the week if the baby hadn't made an appearance. We set everything up for the fifth, and I was scheduled to come in first thing in the morning to get the show on the road.

Stubborn child.

Wonder which one of us could have passed that along to a baby?

Katie, for her part, was absolutely fascinated by the whole thing, especially as she watched my stomach get bigger and bigger, and she loved feeling the baby move. She had a hard time wrapping her head around the whole "there's a baby in my belly" concept, which is fair. At two and a half, there's not any part of pregnancy that makes a damn bit of sense. She kept trying to feed the baby through my belly button, which was enough to make me fall over from the cuteness of it all.

In hindsight, it wasn't really surprising that I went into labor on January second. It happened pretty fast, too. I woke up a couple of times during the night with backaches and what I assumed were Braxton Hicks contractions and didn't feel it necessary to bother Chandler. I felt a little funky the next morning, but chalked it up to being overly pregnant and more tired than usual. He seemed reluctant to go to work—he must have been picking up on something that I didn't see—but I shoved him out the door with Katie, giving them kisses and promising to call if anything happened.

I was in the middle of my daily load of laundry—the one thing I could do that felt like nesting that wasn't pointless with a big move looming over us—the first time I doubled over in pain. I was so surprised at first that I didn't even realize what it was. It passed, and I figured I should wait to feel another one before calling my husband. Less than ten minutes later, it came again.

Because I make really smart life decisions, I then thought that I should wait it out to see if they'd get closer together before getting anyone worried. As it was, I couldn't groan even the tiniest bit in pain without Chandler or one of our friends immediately running over to help me, and I didn't want to worry them needlessly. I also didn't want everyone hovering over me, waiting to see when I was going to explode. So, it was well after lunch time when I finally broke down and called my husband and told him to get home right away.

It was just a horrible coincidence that the moment he burst through the door, I had just dropped to my knees in the kitchen, clawing at the table as I gritted my teeth and grunted in pain. He kind of freaked out. I wanted to calm him down and tell him he was overreacting, but that argument carries a lot less weight when you're crouched on the floor, bracing your back against the kitchen cabinets. I was just grateful that he'd left Katie at daycare.

He had to go get the car out of the garage, ignoring me when I told him we could just take a cab—apparently, there's no arguing with a panic-stricken father. By the time he got back, I'd already had several more contractions but was still able to wait fairly calmly at the front door of our building, suitcase in hand. He scolded me for not waiting for him inside, but I just rolled my eyes as I managed to pull myself into the SUV, gripping the Jesus-handle as another wave of pain ripped through me. He stared at me, horrified, doing his best to comfort me and reminding me to breathe.

I always forget that he didn't get to experience the whole labor pains thing the first time around. He didn't know Corinne was in labor until she was already at the hospital, and even then, I don't know if he would have been panicking the same way, given the circumstances. It was all quite new for the both of us.

The trip to the hospital was…interesting. Despite the fact that I was the one in labor, I had to keep Chandler calm most of the drive, even downplaying my contractions so that he wouldn't crash into another car or drive us onto the sidewalk. In between, I made phone calls to our family and friends to let them know what was going on and arranged for Katie to be picked up and brought to the hospital, at least for a little while until we figured out how long it was going to take. He asked if my water had broken, and it wasn't until that moment that I realized my pants were damp. I groaned in disgust when I realized that there was a puddle of amniotic fluid somewhere in our apartment. So gross.

Then, just like that, the baby was there. We did manage to make it into the hospital though not into a delivery room—apparently, even if a woman comes into the emergency room hugely pregnant, breathing heavily, moaning in pain, and says her contractions are about two minutes apart, they just won't quite believe you until a doctor says it's true. Reassuring. At any rate, they did get me into an exam room quickly, just to make sure I actually had a baby coming out of me and hadn't just eaten a really big lunch. I took off my pants and crawled onto the gurney, and the ER nurse told me to finish getting changed first as she thrust a gown at me, but my body had taken over. I couldn't stop it. I hitched up my legs and grabbed on, Chandler immediately supporting my back. The nurse looked panicked and kept telling me to wait as she yelled for help, her face going ashen when she looked between my legs and gasped, "It's crowning!"

I actually laughed at her reaction. Objectively, her panic was funny, especially considering she works in a hospital. Still, this poor girl—well, woman, but a young one—grabbed a pair of gloves, climbed onto the gurney between my legs and gave me instructions as best as she could. I was truly on autopilot at that point, so I essentially did what I wanted and what I could. Just a few moments later, before anyone else could get to us, out came the baby, calm and serene, blinking at us sleepily, and the nurse stared at it wonder.

A doctor showed up a minute later, someone I didn't know and had never seen before, attempting to chastise all of us for not waiting or getting more help. If I hadn't just pushed a child out of me, I would have gotten up and smacked him. As it was, I wouldn't let the baby out of my arms as I was wheeled up to the maternity ward, unreasonably worried that someone would misplace it before we even picked out a name, our doctor waiting for us as we got off the elevator, thoroughly amused.

"You couldn't wait for me?" she asked, teasingly.

I really just didn't have it in me to offer an sort of sarcastic remark, though Chandler immediately went on a rant about the incompetence in the emergency room and that no one would believe that I was in labor and that someone who'd probably only been a nurse for a week had to deliver the baby because no one else was around.

The poor nurse, who'd followed us up, looked completely shell-shocked at the whole situation. I patted her arm reassuringly, aware of the irony of a woman who just gave birth consoling the nurse who'd only caught the baby, and made sure to thank her for what she'd done to help us.

After that, all of my ability and motivation to pack up and get into the house fell to the wayside. I found out that having a newborn is very different than having an eight-month-old on occasion. Logically, I knew that would be the case, but it was still quite a shock to my system finding out just how much energy it took just to take care of a teeny, tiny person. It took up everything I had, and it was so much harder than I ever imagined it to be. The upside is that I had Chandler with me for most of the first month, and he did more than his fair share of taking care of the baby.

Katie, however, was significantly less than impressed. Mommy being pregnant didn't really change her life at all. Mommy and Daddy bringing home a baby…well, that was a different story. It wasn't that she didn't like the baby; more that she couldn't muster up much interest in it. The baby couldn't talk or interact with her, and she certainly wasn't allowed to hold the baby, and at that age, she was very much into being hands-on. As a result, she actually felt distant, which is a strange sensation to get from a toddler. She definitely wasn't prepared for the attention to be split, either. She was very used to being an only child, and the concept of "big sister" was beyond her. Fortunately, she wasn't at all aware of the baby crying during the night, but it wasn't uncommon for her to start crying at other points of the day if the baby happened to be, too. I tried like hell to avoid telling her that she was a big girl, and that big girls didn't do things like that. I figured that would just make it worse—either she would try to revert to being a "baby," or she'd start bottling things up at an extremely young age, which didn't seem at all healthy. It was an adjustment, to say the least. The best we could do was to try to include her in all of it, so she'd start to understand what was going on in her world. Instead of both me and Chandler fussing over the baby, one of us would handle the infant, and the other would handle the toddler.

With all of that going on, I hardly remembered that we actually had a house we were supposed to move into. The four of us crammed into our apartment felt normal, and since I was often zombie-like, I hardly noticed my surroundings. I was vaguely aware of Chandler mentioning the house to me from time to time, but not a lot of information that wasn't directly related to childcare registered with me. It was impossible to care about much beyond keeping the baby alive. Besides the fact, I was completely and utterly fascinated with this tiny new life I'd managed to expel into the world. We would stare at each other an awful lot, both studying each other carefully, waiting for someone to make the first move.

Usually, it was the baby, and usually, it involved some sort of projectile bodily fluid.

Somehow, though—with almost no help from me—Chandler managed to get the apartment packed up. I wish I could have been more useful, but there was nothing I could do about it. He was on parental leave from work for about a month, and he insisted that I take full advantage of it. So, unlike a lot of circumstances where only the mother has leave and somehow has to figure out how to manage a newborn and a household at the same time, I had Chandler. He did a lot of the cleaning and such, which was a testament to just how tired and worn down I was. I actually got to sleep when the baby slept, at least sometimes. It was during that downtime that he started to pack and get stuff ready for the move. I really didn't notice, though, sadly. Pregnancy brain doesn't really end after birth, it seems, and that first month absolutely flew by. When I was home by myself with the baby after that, I felt like there was too much to do and not enough time to do it.

But, again, my husband saved the day. He got our friends and family over to the apartment to help with packing, and it gave me some company other than our infant.

Somewhere in all that, the heating system in the house got fixed, and the gutters followed along fairly quickly after. The only thing needed to be done was the porch and the painting, but those almost felt minor after that.

Packing kicked into high gear, as well as buying and organizing the delivery of new furniture and appliances. With both of us only having lived in fairly small apartments for our adult lives, we weren't entirely prepared to furnish an entire house. The upside is that since I was getting almost no sleep, I had plenty of time to surf the internet to find all of the things I wanted to make my dream house come to life. And because Chandler is the perfect husband, he thought every one of my ideas was wonderful and was happy to go along with it. Truthfully, and by his own admission, decorating isn't exactly his strong suit, so he really didn't care what I did as long as he didn't have to make the decisions himself.

By the end of February, we actually managed to have everything packed and moved into our new house which, after all the repairs and upgrades, feels like it's actually brand new. Now, we've been in our house for almost two months. The process of getting settled in has taken a lot longer than I would have liked, but with a newborn and a toddler, plus a husband whose commute is now about an hour each way, it's slow going at times. Surprisingly, though, I don't mind. Having everything just so isn't a priority at the moment. Despite my exhaustion, our baby is only going to be this teeny for a very short amount of time, and I want to appreciate those moments for as long as possible. If that means I have to sacrifice everything being completely in order for now, then I'm happy to do it.

"Whatcha doin', Mommy?"

Katie's voice breaks me out of my reverie and I grin, looking down at her. Her vocabulary has expanded exponentially suddenly, and she's talking more and more like a tiny adult these days. It kills me, but being able to have actual conversations with my daughter is incredible. She has a lot to say, and so many thoughts and opinions, it's ridiculous. She's not even three.

She seems to really like the new house, though, and playing in the backyard, when the weather permits, seems to give her a thrill unlike any other. The first month we were out here, Chandler brought her into the city for daycare every day, and it took its toll on her. Spending that much time in a car made her really unhappy, not that I can blame her, so we found a daycare that's local to us for her. She seems much more content, and she's closer to me if something were to happen.

Technically, I could have her home with me all day. I haven't gone back to work yet. Though I love the idea of being home with my little girl all the time, I know it's better for her to be around people her own age so she can develop social skills and just get to have a good time. But, it's within walking distance from our house, so the baby and I go to pick her up every afternoon, and every afternoon she holds my hand as she bounces up and down in excitement, telling me to the best of her abilities what she's done for the day. No one ever questions if I'm her mommy, and no one even knows that I've adopted her. It simply doesn't matter. When I see her little face light up when I greet her at the end of the day…it still makes my heart flip.

As for going back to work…I don't know about that yet. I've been on "leave" for four months now, and at this point, making the trek into the city every day holds absolutely no appeal for me. I can't imagine passing the baby off to a daycare right now, either. It's too early, at least for me, and the thought breaks my heart. For now, I really like being a stay-at-home mom. It suits me. There are plenty of restaurants out here I could look into, too, when the timing is right. Part of me hates to permanently say goodbye to my old place, but it's just not conducive to my new living situation. Not to mention that it means we'd have to put Katie in a car again for an hour each way—because there's no way I'd leave her at daycare near our house if I wasn't going to be near our house—but because Chandler's office doesn't accept kids under a year old, we'd have to find something else for the baby, and that's just not happening.

So, for now, my job is to be a mom, and I'm happier with that choice than I ever imagined I'd be. That's not to say that I thought I wouldn't be happy as a mom—I've wanted kids for as long as I can remember, and being Katie's mom has been the most amazing thing I've ever experienced. I just…I never expected to feel so complete. My body is still in the process of recovering, parts of me I wouldn't expect are still sore at times and I wear down a little faster on occasion, but I've accepted that as a fact of life for the moment and just try to work _with_ it instead of against it.

"Mom-meeee," Katie says in a sing-song voice, bringing me back to the present, and I squat down in front of her, smoothing her hair back from her face.

"Mommy's working on making the house pretty," I tell her. "Want to help?"

"Mmmmmno."

I bite the inside of my lip to keep from laughing at her. "Well, how about you stay here and keep Mommy company?" I know good and well that, at her age right now, telling her she HAS to do something will result in the apocalypse, even something as basic as telling her it's bedtime. Though, we have learned that giving her "choices" helps a lot, because she it means she gets to be part of the process. For now, she buys into, "Do you want to go to bed, or do you want to go to sleep?" making up her mind from day to day which she'd rather do. I dread the day when she figures that one out. But if I ask her to just stay in the kitchen with me, she'll wind up helping pull things out of boxes and handing them to me. Picking the right battle is always a tough decision.

"Yeah!"

I wrap my arms around her, pulling her in for a hug. I feel her arms go around my neck and she squeezes me tight. She loves hugging. She has for a long time, really, but now that she has more control over her limbs, she's really gotten good at it. There's nothing like being hugged by your kid.

"Can we dance?" she asks suddenly, and this time I do laugh out loud. It's one of her absolute favorite pastimes, and she knows that her father and I rarely have the heart to refuse her. How could anyone say no to dancing with the sweetest little girl in the world?

"I guess it's time for Mommy to take a little break," I answer, giving her cheek a couple of kisses before pulling back. "Just for a few minutes, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy," she answers, her eyes twinkling, and I get the feeling that, even though she's still a few months shy of three, she knows that it'll be all too easy to keep me distracted for more than a few minutes.

I stand up, groaning a little in the process—having a baby is no joke. It can seriously take a long time before your body starts to actually feel like normal. I plug my phone into a set of speakers, pulling up my "Katie" playlist. She doesn't really care what the words are most of the time, just as long as it's something she can kind of bop up and down to. Amazingly, she retains a lot of lyrics, and hearing her sing is one of the cutest things in the world, but dancing is what she really seems to love the most.

The music starts and I whip around, pointing my finger at her. "Don't you dare look back—keep your eyes on me. I said, 'you're holding back,' she said, 'Shut up and dance with me.'"

Katie claps her hands, her entire face lighting up. The part about dancing she seems to like the most is that we are really interactive about it. I get way into it and wind up doing something that looks like an interpretive dance. It makes my kid happy and that's all that really matters.

I hold out my hands for her, swaying her side to side as she hops up and down. God, she's cute. She tries to sing along as she goes, the lyrics familiar to her though she isn't good enough at talking yet to be able to get the words out fast enough.

I drop to my knees so I can see eye to eye with her. "She took my arm," I exclaim dramatically, making Katie giggle. "I don't know how it happened. We took the floor and she said…" She starts to jump up and down even faster, the chorus her favorite part. I sing along for her, hoping that she'll be able to pick up a few more full sentences, even if they're lyrics. "This woman is my destiny. She said, 'ooo, ooo!" I point at Katie and she grins.

"Shut up dance me!"

I laugh with her, pulling her close so we can "slow dance" to the music. She doesn't know what "shut up" means yet, though I'm trying to teach her she can only say it if she's singing this song. I don't know how much of that lesson is sticking with her, but I haven't heard her use it outside of this context yet. Small victories.

She squirms out of my arms, wiggling her little body to her own beat. I stand up again, mostly just watching her enjoy herself for a few moments. She might ask people to dance with her, but she really doesn't need the company. "Shut up dance me!" she exclaims, just in time with the music. She looks immensely proud of herself, and she should be. I'm proud of her, too. I can't believe I get to call this kid "mine."

She skips around merrily, sometimes hitting the beat but mostly not, having the time of her life. She takes such joy in the little things, and it always reminds me to appreciate the small moments in life. These small moments are what make life great and worth remembering.

I reach down and grab her as she dances close to me, swooping her through the air as she laughs brightly. I pull her close against me, taking one of her hands again like we're grown-up dancing. "Deep in her eyes, I think I see the future." I force myself to not compare the path my life has taken with random lyrics, no matter how true they might feel. I've let myself fall into that trap before, and for right now, I just want to enjoy this time with my little girl.

The music slows a little and I rest my cheek against hers. I can hear her panting just a little from all the exertion. My heart clenches painfully for a few moments as I realize for the millionth time today how perfect my life is, and how I was one spilled coffee away from not having this at all. In a split second, my life changed forever. When I think about how different things would be if I hadn't gone into the coffee house that day, or if I'd gone just a few minutes later or earlier…I shudder a little, squeezing Katie tighter. The thought that someone else could be her mom right now horrifies me. I couldn't love her more if I gave birth to her. I know that for a fact. I don't love my biological child any more than I love my adopted one.

"Dance, Mommy!"

"Yes, ma'am," I answer, pulling myself from my thoughts. The music picks up again and I start to hop up and down, Katie securely in my arms. She laughs, her little fingers gripping my shoulders. I give her a run for her money in the crazy dancing department, jumping and twirling all over the kitchen—a kitchen that, compared to our apartment is massive, and is actually very nicely sized, all things considered. We laugh together, both of us breathless as I try to remember to sing along.

"Here we go, Katie! The big finish—you ready?"

"Ready!"

"Shut up and dance with me!" I spin us around in a tight circle, hoping like hell neither of us throw up in the process. "Your turn, baby!"

"Shut up dance me!" she answers, her grin almost literally from ear to ear.

I dip her backwards in time to the music, making her giggle once more. A different song starts but I hold her nearly upside down, both of us breathing heavily. "I love you, Katie-did."

"Love you, Mommy."

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my eyes from welling up with tears. So far, "Love you, Mommy," is my absolute favorite sentence of all time. Chandler has said some pretty magical things to me over the last couple of years, but those three little words completely melt my heart. Instead of crying, I give her a bunch of kisses, making her laugh hysterically.

"Dance _again_ , Mommy!"

"You want to dance again, Katie?" I ask, giving her sides gentle pokes to make her laugh more. She'll probably wind up peeing all over me, but it'll have been worth it.

"Yeah!"

"What do we say?"

"Puh- _lease_ , Mommy?"

I give her more kisses, finally turning her right side up. She grabs onto the sides of my head as I lift her in the air, blowing raspberries on her belly.

"What was that?" I ask, her shrieks of laughter high-pitched and piercing.

"Puh- _lease_ , Mommy!"

"Yeah, _please_ , Mommy?"

Katie and I look up at the sound of Chandler's voice to find him watching us from the doorway, his arms full of baby.

"Hi, Daddy!" Katie exclaims as I reach over to the counter and turn down the music.

"You been watching us long?" I ask, unable to wipe the silly grin from my face.

"Long enough to know that my girls are absolutely crazy."

I roll my eyes as we meet each other in the middle of the kitchen. Chandler leans over to kiss Katie and I bend over, pressing a kiss to my sleepy-looking son's forehead. "Hi, Mighty Max," I say softly. "Did you have a good nap?"

"I think so," Chandler answers, jostling our four-month-old. "He woke up before Mommy and Katie went nuts, but he's been terribly curious about what the two of you have been up to."

Chandler's been upstairs, switching between doing some stuff for work and doing more unpacking and organizing while the baby napped. Since I'm with him almost all the time, Chandler's always eager to take over the bulk of the duties when he's home for the weekend or able to work from here instead of going into Manhattan.

I got so lucky with this man. He's an incredible father and a fantastic husband. In the past, I've heard friends talking about their kids almost as if they're single parents, doing all of the work of taking care of the house and children, often with a fulltime, leave-the-house-job on top of it, while their husbands or significant others do the bare minimum, even complaining when they're asked to participate in some form of house work or child rearing. Not my guy, though. We're a team. He _wants_ to be around our kids. I'm sure it doesn't hurt that he was a single parent for so long, but I think that's just the sort of person he is. This whole thing matters to him—this life we have together, the life we're trying to build for the kids, it all means something to the both of us. Hell, it means _everything_ to the both of us. We put a lot of work into it, there have been times the last couple of years that haven't been easy, and I'm sure we'll go through tough spots in the future, but it's worth it.

My dad was right. Marriage is hard, but awesome.

But Chandler dotes on the kids, and he get can't get enough of having another baby around. I figure it'll be easier to convince him we need more of these things with that attitude. The thought of it seemed to freak him out at our wedding, but he really shouldn't be too hard of a sell with that.

Katie and Max need at _least_ one more brother or sister.

I kiss the baby's forehead again before pressing my temple against Chandler's shoulder, sighing. I know Katie wants to dance again, but I just need another moment.

Maxwell Xavier Bing, because we apparently thought it was a good idea to give a kid two different names with "X's" in them. I can't foresee ever really calling him "Maxwell," but it may be his preference at some point in his life. Still, it's a fancy name for someone who pukes all over himself on a semi-daily basis.

One would suspect he'd grow out of that at some point, though.

Even though he's only been around for four months, I have a hard time thinking about him as "Maxwell" when Max—or usually Mighty Max—fits him so nicely. Same as I've almost never thought about Katie actually being "Kathryn." That's _way_ too grown up for her, but it could be what she prefers someday. I know that when she was born, Chandler wanted to give her an elegant, grown-up name that she could use at some point in her life if she ever felt the need, and we carried on that tradition with our son. Hence, Kathryn Eleanor and Maxwell Xavier.

Sometimes, they feel too fancy—Chandler, Kathryn, Maxwell—and then just regular old Monica. I definitely don't fit in with that crowd.

They seem to like me anyway.

Who knows? Maybe at some point Katie will think being called "Katie" is too childish and want to sound more grown up. That thought kills me, really. She's almost three and I think that's plenty old enough. She can just stop right there and I'd be perfectly happy to be a mommy to a toddler and an infant for all eternity.

"You're thinking too much," Chandler says suddenly, but I just shrug, sniffling ever so slightly.

"Can't help it."

"Sure you can. Let's crank the music back up, we'll dance like crazy people in the kitchen, and maybe later tonight…we can start getting down to business with baby number three."

I look up at him, startled—it's still amazing that he seems to read my mind, even though he's done it from beginning. We just must be on the same wavelength all the time. "Really?"

His eyes crinkle at the edge as he smiles at me. "Absolutely. The more the merrier, right?"

I stand on tiptoe, maneuvering carefully around the kids to press my lips to his. "I love you so much," I manage to whisper. We haven't exactly been trying to prevent another pregnancy lately—sometimes he wears a condom, sometimes I put in my diaphragm, sometimes we "forget." It hasn't happened yet, and I'm marginally grateful for that. I was cleared for sex the standard six weeks after giving birth and we've been back in the saddle, so to speak, regularly since then. I got lucky—some parts of my body healed nicely and quickly, and my sex drive didn't seem to disappear with having a baby, but in hindsight, getting knocked up again just six weeks after having Max would have made a third kid less than a year younger than him. That's a lot, even for me. But now…I could see us managing another one now.

"I love you, too," he answers, one hand wrapping around my waist as the other keeps Max securely against his chest.

"Shut up dance me!" Katie exclaims, effectively killing the mood.

"Sorry, sweetheart, did you want to dance some more?" I tease, knowing that sarcasm is still lost on her for the moment.

"Yeah!"

"Are you sure?"

"Puh- _lease_!"

I kiss her cheek, then lean over to kiss Max, who's looking more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by the moment. Chandler meets me in the middle, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. I'm sure Katie's on the verge of combusting, but now's as good a time as any to work on teaching her patience.

"Mommy," she says, exasperated. If she sounds like this at almost three, I can't imagine what she's going to sound like when she's thirteen.

"All right, Katie-did. Let's dance some more." She starts to squirm as I head over to my phone, so I put her on the floor. She looks like she's already dancing, and truthfully, I don't think she really needs the music to boogie, but still…it's such a simple thing that makes her so happy.

Chandler sways Max gently as the music starts again. Max, for his part, seems content to sit in his father's arms like a squishy little potato. He hasn't start whining for his post-nap snack yet, so Chandler sways him over to the table and puts him in one of his little chairs, buckled in safely so he can watch without getting too jostled. It doesn't take much to get the kid to barf all over the place, and I don't want to have to deal with Katie's outrage if he manages to upchuck all over her dance party.

My husband grabs me gently, pulling me into his arms, and I sigh contentedly. I keep my eyes on Max, who looks fascinated with everything that's happening right now, and watch Katie every time she hops past me. Chandler gives me a soft squeeze and I snuggle into him a bit more.

Unpacking and organizing the kitchen can definitely wait.

Dance parties are way more important.

* * *

 _I want to be the friend you fall hopelessly in love with. The one you take into your arms and into your bed and into the private world you keep trapped in your head. I want to be that kind of friend. The one who will memorize the things you say as well as the shape of your lips when you say them. I want to know every curve, every freckle, every shiver of your body._ _  
_ _I want to know where to touch you, I want to know how to touch you. I want to know convince you to design a smile just for me. Yes, I do want to be your friend. I want to be your best friend in the entire world._

* * *

 _Author's notes to follow shortly._


	49. Chapter 49

I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS TOOK SO LONG. For a while there, I really thought this would just sit on my hard drive forever, mostly complete. I have a lot of stories that have met that fate over the years, and it's actually kind of huge that I managed to stick this one out.

What's more, I can't believe you guys stuck with me through all of this. Not even just this story, but the last couple of years I've been writing Mondler fic. It's been a crazy ride, and I appreciate everyone sticking with me through all of my neuroses and such. I mean, like, seriously. Writing is therapy, in more ways than one, and you guys have played the unwitting role of therapist for some time now, so I really do have to thank you for that.

I'm not sure why I decided to start each chapter with a quote about love other than it seemed like a really good idea. Most likely, I was looking for quotes for inspiration and found that they stuck with me. The first five pages of this story are filled with them.

"Like Never Before" came from Songbird by Fleetwood Mac. Someone picked up on that way early on, too, so kudos to you, lovely reader. You have excellent taste in music. Picking out a title for a story is actually really hard, and all of my stories are named after song lyrics (I'll have to write them out at some point, just so I won't forget), and even now, a year later, I'm not sure that I'm thrilled with the title. Isn't that something?

I tried writing this in a different format—I really did. I wrote a good portion of the first chapter in past tense but it just felt wrong. I don't know why I write in present tense. Anything I wrote prior to Mondler stuff was in the standard third or first person past tense, and all of it seems pretty solid, even in retrospect, but…maybe it just took me all these years to find my real voice. Maybe it's what'll make me stand out if I ever get up the balls to submit "You" to any sort of publisher. I know some people have said the style is a little off-putting at first, but they seem to get into it. I can understand that—really, I can. I guess it's just my way of keeping everything in the moment.

Seriously…I can't believe it took me more than a year to write this story. I started either at the end of April or the beginning of May in 2015 and finally wrapped it up in the middle of June 2016. I never expected to write this story this way, either. This was really only intended to be five to ten chapters long. It was supposed to be something short and simple and not nearly as in-depth as it wound up being. I mean, in hindsight, I can't imagine this being shorter. Look at all the crap in the middle that we would have missed! But, you know who to thank for that. I won't say her name, but I know a lot of you figured that one out, but I also won't let it go completely, either, mostly because there should always be attention drawn to bullies. I just hope like hell that she's not trying to undermine another vulnerable writer around here that she views as competition. Seriously—what a sad human being. Ugh. I haven't read any of her latest works—is she still "borrowing" my plot lines?

After writing, "You," especially so quickly, and after everything that happened in my real life immediately after that, I felt completely drained and uninspired. I was lucky to squeeze out a few one-shots and chapters of TCL in the interim. I was trying so hard to find _something_ to write about. It felt insurmountable. But, and I think I've already mentioned this, I was watching _Three Men And A Baby_ at some point, and, as many of you read, that scene where Monica overhears Chandler singing _Goodnight Sweetheart_ to Katie was completely stolen from that movie. It was the inspiration for this story. I thought—what if Chandler had a baby, then he met Monica? How would that work? And the rest is, more or less, history.

Something else that is hard—names. Figuring out what to name Chandler's baby was so stupidly hard. I don't even remember how many names I went through back then, or how many baby names sites I went to before I decided on Katie. Interestingly enough, naming Max was really easy. I knew I wanted a baby at the end of the story, and I was fairly certain that I wanted it to be a boy, but I wasn't settled on that part yet. But, I was watching "Fuller House" for the third or fourth time, and Stephanie called her nephew Mighty Max and I knew that was the name. Funny how that works.

Speaking of the end of this story, this was one of those scenes that I pictured a long, _long_ time ago. I think I pictured it before I ever had this story idea. It was around the same time, at least. All I could see what Monica and her daughter, having a crazy dance party to _Shut Up And Dance With Me_. It's stuck with me for this long. I worried so much about writing it, too. I knew it'd be hard to translate into words, and I really wanted to avoid this being a song-fic. I know I got close a couple of times, but I hoped I erred on the side of caution with that one. But truly, I need to stop worrying about what I'm going to write and just write. That's how the epilogue of this story came about. I figured it'd be super short, but I just let it flow and I think it ended up pretty solid. Like I said, I need to trust myself with this stuff. Actually, I think that's true of all of us. We should stop overthinking things and go with the flow. I want to give, hopefully, words of inspiration to any of you out there who think you might want to write but are worried about doing it. Just write. Maybe the words that come out at first won't be great. Maybe they will. Who cares? The words are in you and they need to come out. You'll feel better when they do. It may take one story, it may take a hundred, but you'll feel better for having written what you needed to. Whatever is in you, let it out.

As I've said, I have some vague ideas for a couple of other stories, but no current plans to really start writing them. I've got too much real life stuff filling my brain at the moment to publicly commit to another story, but one never knows. I also realize that TCL hasn't been updated in almost a year. I'd like to promise more of that, but…inspiration is a fickle mistress. I never know when she's going to rear her ugly head. It could be sooner rather than later, or vice versa. I really do hope I have more of that story in me, too, because I think I can go farther with that one. It's a monster of a story, one that doesn't really have an end.

I don't know what else to say other than thank you. Like, a million times over, thank you. Thank you for reading, thank you for believing in me, thank you for dealing with me.

Also, it should be noted that these were written some time before I posted some of the last few chapters, so some of it's outdated, but I decided to let it stand. Mostly because I'm kinda wiped right now and that feels like it would take too much effort.

You know, there are a bunch of you who have been really good to me over the course of this story (and beyond), but I want to call out Baba especially. You've been an amazing sounding board (on so many levels) and such a good friend, and I can't thank you enough. You've been more help to me than you'll know.

Also, here are the rest of the quotes that I never used. Maybe they'll give some of you guys inspiration.

One more thing—you can review this "chapter" if you like, but it's completely not necessary.

PS...I'm pretty sure I started posting this on 8/22/15, and look at that-I finished posting on 8/22/16.

* * *

 _We're gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever, you and me, every day._

 _You don't love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear._

 _If he loved you with all the power of his soul for a whole lifetime, he couldn't love you as much as I do in a single day._

 _How about coffee, drinks, dinner, a movie…for as long as we both shall live?_

 _I love you. I knew it the minute I met you. I'm sorry I took so long for me to catch up. I just got stuck._

 _Above all things, I believe in love. Love is like oxygen. Love is all you need._

 _You must know…surely, you must know it was all for you._

 _I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly._

 _Never love anyone who treats you like you're ordinary._

 _We loved with a love that was more than love._

 _Being with you never felt wrong. It's the one thing I did right. Being with you is the one thing I did right._

 _If there is no love in the world, we will make a new world, and we will give it walls, and we will furnish it with soft, red interiors, from the inside out, and give it a knocker that resonates like a diamond falling to a jeweler's felt so that we should never hear it. Love me, because love doesn't exist, and I have tried everything that does._

 _Love is how you stay alive, even after you're gone._

 _With my last breath, I'll exhale my love for you. I hope it's a cold day, so you can see what you meant to me._

 _I don't know what they are called, the spaces between seconds—but I think of you always in those intervals._

" _Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.'_

 _'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit._

 _'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.'_

 _'Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?'_

 _'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."_ _(The Velveteen Rabbit)_

 _I've always loved you, and when you love someone, you love the whole person, just as he or she is, and not as you would like them to be._

 _If you could only love enough, you could be the most powerful person in the world._

 _Last time I saw you, I said that it hurt too much to love you. But I was wrong about that. The truth is that it hurts too much not to love you._

 _She craved a presence beside her, solid. Fingertips at the nape of her neck and a voice meeting hers in the dark. Someone who would wait with an umbrella to walk her home in the rain, and smile like sunshine when he saw her coming. Who would dance with her on her balcony, keep his promises and know her secrets, and make a tiny world wherever he was, with just her and his arms and his whisper and her trust._

 _He loved her, of course, but better than that, he chose her, day after day. Choice: that was the thing._


End file.
